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T  • 

Trial  and  Death  of 

Socrates  i 

-  ■  '  "  - 

T  ranslated 


By  F.  J.  CHURCH,  M.  A. 

0 


I 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,  j»-  *  & 

#  *  &  PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


ou 


« 


CONTENTS, 


SAGS 

Introduction . .  .  ....  7 

Euthyphron,  or  on  Holiness  .......  59 

.  Apology,  of  Socrates  .........  81 

Crito,  or  the  Duty  of  a  Citizen  .  .  .  .  .  .113 
Ph^edo,  or  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul  ....  131 

Philebus,  on  the  Greatest  Good  ......  213 


PREFACE, 


This  book,  which  is  intended  principally  for  the  large 
and  increasing  class  of  readers  who  wish  to  learn  some¬ 
thing  of  the  masterpieces  of  Greek  literature,  and  who  can¬ 
not  easily  read  them  in  Greek,  was  originally  published  in 
a  different  form.  Since  its  first  appearance  it  has  been  re¬ 
vised  and  corrected  throughout,  and  largely  rewritten. 
The  chief  part  of  the  Introduction  is  new.  It  is  not  in¬ 
tended  to  be  a  general  essay  on  Socrates,  but  only  an  at¬ 
tempt  to  explain  and  illustrate  such  points  in  his  life  and 
teaching  as  are  referred  to  in  these  dialogues,  which,  taken 
by  themselves,  contain  Plato’s  description  of  his  great 
master’s  life,  and  work,  and  death. 

The  books  which  were  most  useful  to  me  in  writing  it 
are  Professor  Zeller’s  Socrates  and  the  Socratic  Schools , 
and  the  edition  of  the  Apology  by  the  late  Rev.  James 
Riddell,  published  after  his  death  by  the  delegates  of  the 
Clarendon  Press.  His  account  of  Socrates  is  singularly 
striking.  I  found  the  very  exact  and  literal  translation  of 
the  Phcedo  into  colloquial  English  by  the  late  Mr.  E.  M. 
Cope  often  very  useful  in  revising  that  dialogue.  I  have 
also  to  thank  various  friends  for  the  patience  with  which 
they  have  looked  over  parts  of  my  l  work  in  manuscript, 
and  for  the  many  valuable  hints  and  suggestions  which 
they  have  given  me. 

As  a  rule  I  have  used  the  text  of  the  Zurich  editors. 
Twice  or  thrice,  in  the  Phcedo,  I  have  taken  a  reading 
from  the  text  of  Schanz :  but  it  seems  to .  me  that  what 
makes  his  edition  valuable  is  its  apparatus  criticus  rather 
than  its  text. 


F.  J.  0. 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES, 


INTKODUCTION. 


These  dialogues  contain  a  unique  picture  of  Socrates 
in  the  closing  scenes  of  his  life,  his  trial,  his  imprisonment, 
and  his  death.  And  they  contain  a  description  also  of  that 
unflagging  search  after  truth,  that  persistent  and  merciless 
examination  and  sifting  of  men  who  were  wise  only  in 
their  own  conceit,  to  which  his  latter  years  wrere  devoted. 
Within  these  limits  he  is  the  most  familiar  figure  of  an¬ 
cient  Greek  history.  No  one  else  stands  out  before  us 
with  so  individual  and  distinct  a  personality  of  his  own. 
Of  the  rest  of  Socrates’  life,  however,  we  are  almost  com¬ 
pletely  ignorant.  All  that  we  know  of  it  consists  of  a  few 
scattered  and  isolated  facts,  most  of  which  are  referred 
to  in  these  dialogues.  A  considerable  number  of  stories 
are  told  about  him  by  late  writers:  but  to  scarcely  any  of 
them  can  credit  be  given.  Plato  and  Xenophon  are  almost 
the  only  trustworthy  authorities  about  him  who  remain; 
and  they  describe  him  almost  altogether  as  an  old  man. 
The  earlier  part  of  his  life  is  to  us  scarcely  more  than  a 
blank. 

Socrates  was  born  very  shortly  before  the  year  469  B.c. 
His  father,  Sophroniscus,  was  a  sculptor:  his  mother, 
Phamarete,  a  midwife.  Nothing  definite  is  known  of  his 
moral  and  intellectual  development.  There  is  no  specific 

7 


8 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


record  of  him  at  all  until  he  served  at  the  siege  of  Potidaea 
(432  B.C.-429  b.c.)  when  he  was  nearly  forty  years  old. 
All  that  we  can  say  is  that  his  youth  and  manhood  were 
passed  in  the  most  splendid  period  of  Athenian  or  Greek 
history.  It  was  the  time  of  that  wonderful  outburst  of 
genius  in  art,  and  literature,  and  thought,  and  statesman¬ 
ship,  which  was  so  sudden  and  yet  so  unique.  Athens  was 
full  of  the  keenest  intellectual  and  political  activity. 
Among  her  citizens  between  the  years  460  b.c.  and  420  B.c. 
were  men  who  in  poetry,  in  history,  in  sculpture,  in  archi¬ 
tecture,  are  our  masters  still.  /Eschylus’  great  Trilogy 
was  brought  out  in  the  year  458  b.c.,  and  the  poet  died  two 
years  later,  when  Socrates  was  about  fifteen  years  old. 
Sophocles  was  born  in  495  b.c.,  Euripides  in  481  B.c. 
They  both  died  about  406  B.c.,  some  seven  years  before 
Socrates.  Pheidias,  the  great  sculptor,  the  artist  of  the 
Elgin  marbles,  which  are  now  in  the  British  Museum,  died 
in  432  b.c.  Pericles,  the  supreme  statesman  and  orator, 
whose  name  marks  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  civilization, 
died  in  429  b.c.  Thucydides,  the  historian,  whose  history 
is  “  a  possession  for  all  ages,”  was  born  in  471  B.c.,  about 
the  same  time  as  Socrates,  and  died  probably  between  401 
B.c.  and  395  B.c.  Ictinus,  the  architect,  completed  the 
Parthenon  in  438  b.c.  There  have  never  been  finer  instru¬ 
ments  of  culture  than  the  art  and  poetry  and  thought  of 
such  men  as  these.  Socrates,  who  in  420  b.c.  was  about 
fifty  years  old,  was  contemporary  with  them  all.  He  must 
have  known  and  conversed  with  some  of  them:  for  Athens 
was  not  very  large,  and  the  Athenians  spent  almost  the 
whole  of  their  day  in  public.  To  live  in  such  a  city  was 
in  itsel  f  no  mean  training  for  a  man,  though  he  might  not 
he  conscious  of  it.  The  great  object  of  Pericles’  policy  had 
been  to  make  Athens  the  acknowledged  intellectual,  capi¬ 
tal  and  center  of  Greece,  “the  Prytaneum  of  all  Greek 
wisdom.  Socrates  himself  speaks  with  pride  in  the  Apol¬ 
ogy  of  her  renown  for  “  wisdom  and  power  of  mind.”  And 
Athens  gave  her  citizens  another  kind  of  training  also, 
through  her  political  institutions.  From  having  been  the 
head  of  the  confederacy  of  Delos,  she  had  grown  to  be  an 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


Imperial,  or,  as  her  enemies  called  her,  a  tyrant  city.  She 
was  the  mistress  of  a  great  empire,  ruled  and  administered 
by  law.  The  Sovereign  Power  in  the  State  was  the  As¬ 
sembly,  of  which  every  citizen,  not  under  disability,  was 
a  member,  and  at  which  attendance'  was  by  law  compulsory. 
There  was  no  representative  government,  no  intervening 
responsibility  of  ministers.  The  Sovereign  people  in  their 
Assembly  directly  administered  the  Athenian  empire. 
Each  individual  citizen  was  thus  brought  every  day  into 
immediate  contact  with  matters  of  Imperial  importance. 
His  political  powers  and  responsibilities  were  very  great. 
He  was  accustomed  to  hear  questions  of  domestic  adminis¬ 
tration,  of  legislation,  of  peace  and  war,  of  alliances,  of 
foreign  and  colonial  policy,  keenly  and  ably  argued  on 
either  side.  He  was  accustomed  to  hear  arguments  on  one 
side  of  a  question  attacked  and  dissected  and  answered  by 
opponents  with  the  greatest  acuteness  and  pertinacity. 
He  himself  had  to  examine,  weigh,  and  decide  between 
rival  arguments.  The  Athenian  judicial  system  gave  the 
same  kind  of  training  in  another  direction  by  its  juries, 
on  which  every  citizen  was  liable  to  be  selected  by  lot  to 
serve.  The  result  was  to  create  at  Athens  an  extremely 
high  level  of  general  intelligence,  such  as  cannot  be  looked 
for  in  a  modern  state.  And  it  may  well  be  that  in  the 
debates  of  the  Assembly  and  the  discussions  of  the  courts 
of  law  Socrates  first  became  aware  of  the  necessity  of  sift¬ 
ing  and  examining  plausible  arguments. 

Such,  shortly,  were  the  influences  under  which  Socrates 
passed  the  first  fifty  years  of  his  life.  It  is  evident  that 
they  were  most  powerful  and  efficient  as  instruments  of 
education,  in  the  wider  sense  of  that  word.  Very  little 
evidence  remains  of  the  formal  training  which  he  received, 
or  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  positive  knowledge: 
and  the  history  of  his  intellectual  development  is  practi¬ 
cally  a  matter  of  pure  conjecture.  As  a  boy  he  received 
the  usual  Athenian  liberal  education  in  music  and  gym¬ 
nastic,  an  education,  that  is  to  say,  mental  and  physical. 
He  was  fond  of  quoting  from  the  existing  Greek  literature, 
and  he  seems  to  have  been  familiar  with  it,  especially  with 


10 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Homer.  He  is  represented  by  Xenophon  as  repeating 
Prodicus’  fable  of  the  choice  of  Heracles  at  length.  He 
says  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  studying  with  his  friends 
"the  treasures  which  the  wise  men  of  old  have  left  us  in 
their  books :  ”  collections,  that  is,  of  the  short  and  pithy 
sayings  of  the  seven  sages,  such  as  “  know  thyself ;  ”  a 
saying,  it  may  be  noticed,  which  lay  at  the  root  of  his  whole 
teaching.  And  he  had  some  knowledge  of  mathematics, 
and  of  science,  as  it  existed  in  those  days.  He  understood 
something  of  astronomy  and  of  advanced  geometry:  and 
lie  was  acquainted  with  certain,  at  any  rate,  of  the  theories 
of  his  predecessors  in  philosophy,  the  Physical  or  Cosmical 
philosophers,  such  as  Heraclitus  and  Parmenides,  and,  es¬ 
pecially,  with  those  of  Anaxagoras.  But  there  is  no  trust¬ 
worthy  evidence  which  enables  us  to  go  beyond  the  bare 
fact  that  he  had  such  knowledge.  We  cannot  tell  whether 
he  ever  studied  Physical  Philosophy  seriously,  or  from 
whom,  or  how,  or  even,  certainly,  when,  he  learnt  what 
he  knew  about  it.  It  is  perhaps  most  likely  that  his  mathe¬ 
matical  and  scientific  studies  are  to  be  assigned  to  the 
earlier  period  of  his  life.  There  is  a  passage  in  the  Phcedo 
in  which  he  says  (or  rather  is  made  to  say)  that  in  his 
youth  he  had  had  a  passion  for  the  study  of  Nature.  The 
historical  value  of  this  passage,  however,  which  occurs  in 
the  philosophical  or  Platonic  part  of  the  dialogue,  is  very 
doubtful.  Socrates  is  represented  as  passing  on  from  the 
study  of  Nature  to  the  doctrine  of  Ideas,  a  doctrine  which 
was  put  forward  for  the  first  time  by  Plato  after  his  death, 
and  which  he  never  heard  of.  The  statement  must  be  taken 
for  what  it  is  worth.  The  fact  that  Aristophanes  in  the 
Clouds  (423  b.c. )  represents  Socrates  as  a  natural  philoso¬ 
pher,  who  teaches  his  pupils,  among  other  things,  astron¬ 
omy  and  geometry,  proves  nothing.  Aristophanes’  mis¬ 
representations  about  Socrates  are  so  gross  that  his  unsup¬ 
ported  testimony  deserves  no  credit:  and  there  is  abso¬ 
lutely  no  evidence  1o  confirm  the  statement  that  Socrates 
ever  taught  Natural  Science.  It  is  quite  certain  that  lat¬ 
terly  he  refused  to  have  anything, to  do  with  such  specula¬ 
tions.  He  admitted  Natural  Science  only  in  so  far  as  it 


INTRODUCTION. 


11 


is  practically  useful,  in  the  way  in  which  astronomy  is 
useful  to  a  sailor,  or  geometry  to  a  land-surveyor.  Natural 
philosophers,  he  says,  are  like  madmen  : /their  conclusions 
are  hopelessly  contradictory,  and  their  science  unproduct¬ 
ive,  impossible,  and  impious;  for  the  gods  are  not  pleased 
with  those  who  seek  to  discover  what  they  do  not  wish  to 
reveal.  The  time  which  is  wasted  on  such  subjects  might 
be  much  more  profitably  employed  in  the  pursuit  of  useful 
knowledge. 

All  then  that  we  can  say  of  the  first  forty  years  of  Soc¬ 
rates’  life,  consists  of  general  statements  like  these.  Dur¬ 
ing  these  years  there  is  no  specific  record  of  him.  Between 
432  b.c.  and  429  b.c.  he  served  as  a  common  soldier  at  the 
siege  of  Potidsea,  an  Athenian  dependency  which  had  re¬ 
volted,  and  surpassed  every  one  in  his  powers  of  enduring- 
hunger,  thirst,  and  cold,  and  all  the  hardships  of  a  severe 
Thracian  winter.  At  this  siege  we  hear  of  him  for  the  first 
time  in  connection  with  Alcibiades,  whose  life  he  saved  in 
a  skirmish,  and  to  whom  he  eagerly  relinquished  the  prize 
of  valor.  In  431  b.c.  the  Peloponnesian  War  broke  out, 
and  in  424  b.c.  the  Athenians  were  disastrously  defeated 
and  routed  by  the  Thebans  at  the  battle  of  Delium.  Soc¬ 
rates  and  Laches  were  among  the  few  who  did  not  yield  to 
panic.  They  retreated  together  steadily,  and  the  resolute 
bearing  of  Socrates  was  conspicuous  to  friend  and  foe  alike. 
Had  all  the  Athenians  behaved  as  he  did,  says  Laches,  in 
the  dialogue  of  that  name,  the  defeat  would  have  been  a 
victory.  Socrates  fought  bravely  a  third  time  at  the  battle 
of  Amphipolis  [422  b.c.]  against  the  Peloponnesian  forces, 
in  which  the  commanders  on  both  sides,  Cleon  and  Brasi- 
das,  were  killed :  but  there  is  no  record  of  his  specific  serv¬ 
ices  on  that  occasion. 

About  the  same  time  that  Socrates  was  displaying  con¬ 
spicuous  courage  in  the  cause  of  Athens  at  Delium  and 
Amphipolis,  Aristophanes  was  holding  him  up  to  hatred, 
contempt,  and  ridicule  in  the  comedy  of  the  Clouds.  The 
Clouds  was  first  acted  in  423  b.c.,  the  year  between  the 
battles  of  Delium  and  Amphipolis,  and  was  afterwards 
recast  in  the  form  in  which  we  have  it.  It  was  a  fierce  and 


12  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

bitter  attack  on  what  Aristophanes,  a  staunch  “laudator 
temporias  acti  Se  puero”  considered  the  corruption  and 
degeneracy  of  the  age.  Since  the  middle  of  the  Fifth  Cen¬ 
tury  B.c.  a  new  intellectual  movement,  in  which  the  Soph¬ 
ists  were  the  most  prominent  figures,  had  set  in.  Men 
had  begun  to  examine  and  to  call  in  question  the  old-fash¬ 
ioned  commonplaces  of  morality  and  religion.  Independ¬ 
ent  thought  and  individual  judgment  were  coming  to  be 
substituted  for  immemorial  tradition  and  authority.  Aris¬ 
tophanes  hated  the  spirit  of  the  age  with  his  whole  soul. 
It  appeared  to  him  to  be  impious  and  immoral.  He  looked 
back  with  unmixed  regret  to  the  simplicity  of  ancient  man¬ 
ners,  to  the  glories  of  Athens  in  the  Persian  wars,  to  the 
men  of  Marathon  who  obeyed  orders  without  discussing 
them,  and  “only  knew  how  to  call  for  their  barley-cake, 
and  sing  yo-lio  !  ”  The  Clouds  i£  his  protest  against  the 
immorality  of  free  thought  and  the  Sophists.  He  chose 
Socrates  for  his  central  figure,  chiefly,  no  doubt  on  account 
of  Socrates’  well-known  and  strange  personal  appearance. 
The  grotesque  ugliness,  and  flat  nose,  and  prominent  eyes, 
and  Silenus-like  face,  and  shabby  dress,  might  be  seen 
every  day  in  the  streets,  and  were  familiar  to  every  Athen¬ 
ian.  Aristophanes  cared  little — probably  he  did  not  take 
the  trouble  to  find  out — that  Socrates’  whole  life  was  spent 
in  fighting  against  the  Sophists.  It  was  enough  for  him 
that  Socrates  did  not  accept  the  traditional  beliefs,  and  was 
a  good  center-piece  for  a  comedy.  The  account  of  the 
Clouds  given  in  the  Apology  is  substantially  correct. 
There  is  a  caricature  of  a  natural  philosopher,  and  then  a 
caricature  of  a  Sophist.  Poll  the  two  together,  and  we  have 
Aristophanes’  picture  of  Socrates.  Socrates  is  described 
as  a  miserable  recluse,  and  is  made  to  talk  a  great  deal  of 
very  absurd  and  very  amusing  nonsense  about  “  Physics.” 
He  announces  that  Zeus  has  been  dethroned,  and  that 
Rotation  reigns  in  his  stead. 

The  new  divinities  are  Air,  which  holds  the  earth  sus¬ 
pended,  and  Ether,  and  the  Clouds,  and  the  Tongue — 
people  always  think  “that  natural  philosophers  do  not 
believe  in  the  gods.  He  professes  to  have  Belial’s  power  to 


INTRODUCTION, 


13 


“  make  the  worse  Appear  the  better  reason ; ”  and  with  it 
he  helps  a  debtor  to  swindle  his  creditors  by  means  of  the 
most  paltry  quibbles.  Under  his  tuition  the  son  learns 
to  beat  his  father,  and  threatens  to  beat  his  mother;  and 
justifies  himself  on  the  ground  that  it  is  merely  a  matter 
of  convention  that  the  father  has  the  right  of  beating  his 
son.  In  the  concluding  lines  of  the  play  the  chorus  say 
that  Socrates’  chief  crime  is  that  he  has  sinned  against 
the  gods  with  his  eyes  open.  The  Natural  Philosopher 
was  unpopular  at  Athens  on  religious  grounds:  he  was 
associated  with  atheism.  The  Sophist  was  unpopular  on 
moral  grounds:  he  was  supposed  to  corrupt  young  men, 
to  make  falsehood  plausible,  to  be  “  a  clever  fellow  who 
could  make  other  people  clever  too.”  The  natural  phil¬ 
osopher  was  not  a  Sophist,  and  the  Sophist  was  not  a 
natural  philosopher.  Aristophanes  mixes  them  up  to¬ 
gether,  and  ascribes  the  sins  of  both  of  them  to  Socrates. 
The  Clouds,  it  is  needless  to  say,  is  a  gross  and  absurd 
libel  from  beginning  to  end :  but  Aristophanes  hit  the  popu¬ 
lar  conception.  The  charges  which  he  made  in  423  b.c. 
stuck  to  Socrates  to  the  end  of  his  life.  They  are  exactly 
the  charges  made  by  popular  prejudice,  against  which  Soc¬ 
rates  defends  himself  in  the  first  ten  chapters  of  the 
'Apology,  and  which  he  says  have  been  so  long  “  in  the  air.” 
He  formulates  them  as  follows :  “  Socrates  is  an  evil-doer 
who  busies  himself  with  investigating  things  beneath  the 
earth  and  in  the  sky,  and  who  makes  the  worse  appear  the 
better  reason,  and  who  teaches  others  these  same  things.” 
If  we  allow  for  the  exaggerations  of  a  burlesque,  the 
Clouds  is  not  a  bad  commentary  on  the  beginning  of  the 
Apology.  And  it  establishes  a  definite  and  important  his¬ 
torical  fact — namely,  that  as  early  as  423  b.c.  Socrates’ 
system  of  cross-examination  had  made  him  a  marked 
man. 

For  sixteen  years  after  the  battle  of  Amphipolis  we  hear 
nothing  of  Socrates.  The  next  events  in  his  life,  of  which 
there  is  a  specific  record,  are  those  narrated  by  himself  in 
the  twentieth  chapter  of  the  Apology.  They  illustrate,  as 
he  meant  them  to  illustrate,  his  invincible  moral  courage. 


14 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


They  show,  as  he  intended  that  they  should,  that  there  was 
no  power  on  earth,  whether  it  were  an  angry  popular  assem¬ 
bly,  or  a  murdering  oligarchy,  which  could  force  him  to  do 
wrong.  In  40G  n.c.  the  Athenian  fleet  defeated  the  Lace- 
daemonians  at  the  battle  of  Arginusae,  so-called  from  some 
small  islands  off  the  south-east  point  of  Lesbos.  After 
the  battle  the  Athenian  commanders  omitted  to  recover 
the  bodies  of  their  dead,  and  to  save  the  living  from  off 
their  disabled  triremes.  The  Athenians  at  home,  on  hear¬ 
se,  f  this,  were  furious.  The  due  performance  of  funeral 
rites  was  a  very  sacred  duty  with  the  Greeks;  and  many 
citizens  mourned  for  friends  and  relatives  who  had  been 
left  to  drown.  The  commanders  were  immediately  re¬ 
called,  and  an  assembly  was  held  in  which  they  were  ac¬ 
cused  of  neglect  of  duty.  They  defended  themselves  by 
saying  that  they  had  ordered  certain  inferior  officers 
(amongst  others,  their  accuser  Theramenes)  to  perform 
the  duty,  but  that  a  storm  had  come  on  which  had  ren¬ 
dered  the  performance  impossible.  The  debate  was  ad¬ 
journed,  and  it  was  resolved  that  the  Senate  should  de¬ 
cide  in  what  way  the  commanders  should  be  tried.  The 
Senate  resolved  that  the  Athenian  people,  having  heard 
the  accusation  and  the  defense,  should  proceed  to  vote 
forthwith  for  the  acquittal  or  condemnation  of  the  eight 
commanders  collectively.  The  resolution  was  grossly  un¬ 
just,  and  it  was  illegal.  It  substituted  a  popular  vote  for 
a  fair  and  formal  trial.  And  it  contravened  one  of  the 
laws  of  Athens,  which  provided  that  at  every  trial  a  sepa¬ 
rate  verdict  should  be  found  in  the  case  of  each  person 
accused. 

Socrates  was  at  that  time  a  member  of  the  Senate,  the 
only  office  that  he  ever  filled.  The  Senate  was  composed 
of  five  hundred  citizens,  elected  by  lot,  fifty  from  each  of 
the  ten  tribes,  and  holding  office  for  one  year.  The  mem¬ 
bers  of  each  tribe  held  the  Try t any,  that  is,  were  responsi¬ 
ble  for  the  conduct  of  business,  for  thirty-five  days  at  a 
time,  and  ten  out  of  the  fifty  were  proedri  or  presidents 
every  seven  days  in  succession.  Every  bill  or  motion  was 
examined  by  the  proedri,  before  it  was  submitted  to  the 


INTRODUCTION. 


15 


Assembly,  to  see  if  it  were  in  accordance  with  law:  if  it 
was  not,  it  was  quashed :  one  of  the  proedri  presided  over 
the  Senate  and  the  Assembly  each  day,  and  for  one  day 
only:  he  was  called  the  Epistates:  it  was  his  duty  to  put 
the  question  to  the  vote.  In  short,  he  was  the  Speaker. 

These  details  are  necessary  for  the  understanding  of 
the  passage  in  the  Apology.  On  the  day  on  which  it  was 
proposed  to  take  a  collective  vote  on  the  acquittal  or  con¬ 
demnation  of  the  eight  commanders,  Socrates  -was  Epis¬ 
tates.  The  proposal  was,  as  we  have  seen,  illegal:  but 
the  people  were  furious  against  the  accused,  and  it  was 
a  very  popular  one..  Some  of  the  proedri  opposed  it  be¬ 
fore  it  was  submitted  to  the  Assembly,  on  the  ground  of 
its  illegality;  but  they  were  silenced  by  threats  and  sub¬ 
sided.  Socrates  alone  refused  to  give  way.  He  would  not 
put  a  question,  which  he  knew  to  be  illegal,  to  the  vote. 
Threats  of  suspension  and  arrest,  the  clamor  of  an  angry 
people,  the  fear  of  imprisonment  or  death,  could  not  move 
him.  “  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  face  the  danger  out  in 
the  cause  of  law  and  justice,  and  not  to  be  an  accomplice 
in  your  unjust  proposal.”  But  his  authority  lasted  only 
for  a  day;  the  proceedings  were  adjourned,  a  more  pliant 
Epistates  succeeded  him,  and  the  generals  were  condemned 
and  executed. 

Two  years  later  Socrates  again  showed  by  his  conduct 
that  he  would  endure  anything  rather  than  do  wrong.  In 
40-i  b.c.  Athens  was  captured  by  the  Lacedaemonian 
forces,  and  the  long  walls  were  thrown  down.  The  great 
Athenian  democracy  was  destroyed,  and  an  oligarchy  of 
thirty  set  up  in  its  place  by  Critias  (who  in  former  days 
had  been  much  in  Socrates’  company)  with  the  help  of 
the  Spartan  general  Lysander.  The  rule  of  the  Thirty 
lasted  for  rather  less  than  a  year:  in  the  spring  of  403 
B.c.  the  democracy  was  restored.  The  reign  of  Critias 
and  his  friends  was  a  Eeign  of  Terror.  Political  oppo¬ 
nents  and  private  enemies  were  murdered  as  a  matter  of 
course.  So  were  respectable  citizens,  and  wealthy  citi¬ 
zens  for  the  sake  of  their  wealth.  All  kinds  of  men  were 
used  as  assassins,  for  the  oligarchs  wished  to  implicate  as 


16 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


many  as  possible  in  their  crimes.  With  this  object  they 
sent  for  Socrates  and  four  others  to  the  Council  chamber, 
a  building  where  formerly  the  Prytanies,  and  now  they 
themselves,  took  their  meals  and  sacrificed,  and  ordered 
them  to  bring  one  Leon  over  from  Salamis  to  Athens,  to 
be  murdered.  The  other  four  feared  to  disobey  an  order, 
disobedience  to  which  probably  meant  death.  They  went 
over  to  Salamis,  and  brought  Leon  back  with  them.  Soc¬ 
rates  disregarded  the  order  and  the  danger,  and  went 
home.  “  I  showed,”  he  says  “  not  by  mere  words,  but  by 
my  actions,  that  I  did  not  care  a  straw  for  death:  but 
that  I  did  care  very  much  indeed  about  doing  wrong.” 
He  had  previously  incurred  tire  anger  of  Critias  and  the 
other  oligarchs  by  publicly  condemning  their  political 
murders  in  language  which  caused  them  to  send  for  him,' 
and  forbid  him  to  converse  with  young  men  as  he  was  ac¬ 
customed  to  do,  and  to  threaten  him  with  death. 

There  are  two  events  in  the  life  of  Socrates  to  which 
no  date  can  be  assigned.  The  first  of  them  is  his  mar- 
miage  with  Xanthippe.  By  her  he  had  three  sons,  Lam- 
proeles,  Sophroniscus,  and  Menexenus.  The  two  latter 
are  called  “  children  ”  in  the  Apology,  which  was  delivered 
in  399  b.c.  and  the  former  at  this  time  was  some  fifteen 
years  old.  The  name  Xanthippe  has  come  to  mean  a  shrew. 
Her  son  Lamprocles  found  her  bitter  tongue  and  her 
violent  temper  intolerable,  and  his  father  told  him  that 
she  meant  all  her  harshness  for  his  good,  and  read  him  a 
lecture  on  filial  duty.  The  parting  between  Socrates  and 
Xanthippe,  as  described  in  the  Plicedo,  is  not  marked  by 
any  great  tenderness.  His  last  day  was  spent,  not  with 
his  wife,  but  with  his  friends,  and  she  was  not  present  at 
his  death.  Xo  trustworthy  details  of  his  married  life 
have  been  preserved ;  but  there  is  a  consensus  of  testimony 
by  late  authors  that  it  was  not  happy.  Lndeed  the  strong 
probability  is  that  he  had  no  home  life  at  all. 

Again,  no  date  can  be  assigned  to  the  answer  of  the 
Delphic  oracle,  spoken  of  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  the  Apol¬ 
ogy.  There  it  is  said  that  Chserephon  went  to  Delphi 
and  asked  if  there  was  any  man  who  was  wiser  than  Soc- 


INTRODUCTION. 


17 


rates,  and  the  priestess  answered  that  thereNy^s  no  man. 
Socrates  offers  to  prove  the  truth  of  his  stateliest  by  the 
evidence  of  Chasrephon’s  brother,  ChasrephonVhimself 
being  dead.  In  the  next  chapter  he  represents  tluKduty 
of  testing  the  oracle  as  the  motive  of  that  unceasingVx- 
animation  of  men  which  is  described  in  the  Apology ,  ari'd 
which  gained  him  so  much  hatred.  He  says  that  he 
thought  himself  bound  to  sift  every  one  whom  he  met, 
in  order  that  the  truth  of  the  oracle  might  be  thoroughly 
tested  and  proved.  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the 
answer  of  the  oracle  was  actually  given ;  but,  as  Zeller 
observes,  Socrates  must  have  been  a  well-known  and 
marked  man  before  Chaelephon  could  have  asked  his  ques¬ 
tion,  or  the  oracle  have  given  such  an  answer.  “  It  may 
have  done  a  similar  service  to  Socrates  as  (sic)  his  doc¬ 
tor's  degree  did  to  Luther,  assuring  him  of  his  inward 
call;  but  it  had  just  as  little  to  do  with  making  him  a 
philosophical  reformer  as  the  doctor’s  degree  had  with 
making  Luther  a  religious  reformer.”  The  use  which  he 
makes  of  the  oracle,  therefore,  must  be  regarded  as  “  a 
device  of  a  semi-rhetorical  character  under  cover  of  which 
he  was  enabled  to  avoid  an  avowal  of  the  real  purpose 
which  had  animated  him  in  his  tour  of  examination.”  His 
real  purpose  was  not  to  tost  the  truth  of  the  Delphic 
oracle.  It  was  to  expose  the  hollowness  of  what  passed 
for  knowledge,  and  to  substitute,  or  rather,  to  lay  the 
foundations  of  true  and  scientific  knowledge.  Such 'an 
explanation  of  his  mission  would  scarcely  have  been  under¬ 
stood,  and  it  would  certainly  have  offended  the  judges 
deeply."  But  he  never  hesitates  or  scruples  to  avow  the 
original  cause  of  his  examination  of  men.  He  regarded 
it  as  a  duty  undertaken  in  obedience  to  the  command  of 
God.  “  God  has  commanded  me  to  examine  men,”  he 
says,  “in  oracles,  and  in  dreams,  and  in  every  way  in 
which  His  will  was  ever  declared  to  man.”  “  I  cannot 
hold  my  peace,  for  that  would  be  to  disobey  God.”  The 
Apology  is  full  of  such  passages.  With  this  belief  he 
did  not  shrink  from  the  unpopularity  and  hatred  which  a 
man,  who  exposes  the  ignorance  of  persons  who  imagine 
2 


IS 


TRIAL  and  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


themselves  be  wise,  when  they  are  not  wise,  is  sure  to 
incur.  A£  what  time  he  became  convinced  of  the  hollow¬ 
ness  opwhat  then  commonly  passed  for  knowledge,  and 
beg^j  to  examine  men,  and  to  make  them  give  an  account 
of/ their  words,  cannot  be  exactly  determined,  any  more 
Jhan  the  date  of  the  oracle.  We  cannot  tell  to  how 
many  years  of  his  life  the  account  of  it  given  in  the  Apol¬ 
ogy  applies.  All  that  is  certain  is  that,  as  early  as  423 
b.c.,  twentv-four  years  before  his  death,  he  ivas  a  suffi¬ 
ciently  conspicuous  man  for  Aristophanes  to  select  him 
as  the  type  and  representative  of  the  new  school,  and  to 
parody  his  famous  Elencluos.  There  is,  therefore,  no  rea¬ 
son  to  doubt  that  he  must  have  begun  to  cross-examine 
men  before  423  b.c.  He  had  begun  to  examine  himself  as 
early  as  the  siege  of  Potidma  (432  B.C.-429  b.c.).  But 
when  he  once  set  about  this  work  he  devoted  himself  to 
it  entirely.  He  was  a  strange  contrast  to  professional 
teachers  like  the  Sophists.  He  took  no  pay:  he  had  no 
classes:  he  taught  no  positive  knowledge.  But  his  whole 
life  was  spent  in  examining  himself  and  others.  He  was 
“the  great  cross-examiner.”  He  was  ready  to  question 
and  talk  to  any  one  who  would  listen.  His  life  and  con¬ 
versation  were  absolutely  public.  He  conversed  now 
with  men  like  Alcibiades,  or  Gorgias,  or  Protagoras,  and 
then  with  a  common  mechanic.  In  the  morning  he  was  to 
be  seen  in  the  promenades  and  the  gymnasia :  when  the 
Agora  was  filling,  he  was  there :  he  was  to  be  found  when¬ 
ever  he  thought  that  he  should  meet  most  people.  He 
scarcely  ever  went  away  from  the  city.  “  I  am  a  lover  of 
knowledge,”  lie  says  in  the  Phaedrus,  “and  in  the  city  I 
can  learn  from  men,  but  the  fields  and  the  trees  can  teach 
me  nothing.”  He  gave  his  life  wholly  and  entirely  to  the 
service  of  God,  neglecting  his  private  affairs,  until  he 
came  to  be  in  very  great  poverty.  A  mina  of  silver  is  all 
that  he  can  offer  for  his  life  at  the  trial.  He  formed  no 
school,  but  there  grew  up  round  him  a  circle  of  admiring 
friends,  united,  not  by  any  community  of  doctrines,  but 
by  love  for  their  great  master,  with  whom  he  seems  not 
unfrequently  to  have  had  common  meals. 


INTRODUCTION. 


19 


Plato  has  left  a  most  striking  description  of  Socrates 
in  the  Symposium,  put  into  the  mouth  of  Alcibiades.  I 
quote  it  almost  at  length  from  Shelley’s  translation,  which, 
.though  not  always  correct,  is  graceful: — “  I  will  begin  the 
praise  of  Socrates  by  comparing  him  to  a  certain  statue. 
Perhaps  he  will  think  that  this  statue  is  introduced  for  the 
sake  of  ridicule,  but  I  assure  you  it  is  necessary  for  the 
illustration  of  truth.  I  assert,  then,  that  Socrates  is 
exactly  like  those  Silenuses  that  sit  in  the  sculptor’s  shops, 
and  which  are  holding  carved  flutes  or  pipes,  but  which 
when  divided  in  two  are  found  to  contain  the  images  of 
the  gods.  I  assert  that  Socrates  is  like  the  satyr  Marsyas. 
That  your  form  and  appearance  are  like  these  satyrs,  I 
think  that  even  you  will  not  venture  to  deny;  and  how 
like  you  are  to  them  in  all  other  things,  now  hear.  Are 
you  not  scornful  and  petulant?  If  you  deny  this,  I  will 
bring  witnesses.  Are  you  not  a  piper,  and  far  more  won¬ 
derful  a  one  than  he?  For  Marsyas,  and  whoever  now 
pipes  the  music  that  he  taught,  (for  it  was  Marsyas  who 
taught  Olympus  his  music),  enchants  men  through  the 
power  of  the  mouth.  ,  For  if  any  musician,  be  he  skilful 
or  not,  awakens  this  music,  it  alone  enables  him  to  retain 
the  minds  of  men,  and  from  the  divinity  of  its  nature 
makes  evident  those  who  are  in  want  of  the  gods  and 
initiation:  you  differ  only  from  Marsyas  in  this  circum¬ 
stance,  that  you  effect  without  instruments,  by  mere  words, 
all  that  he  can  do.  For  when  we  hear  Pericles,  or  any 
other  accomplished  orator,  deliver  a  discourse,  no  one,  as 
it  were,  cares  anything  about  it.  But  when  any  one  hears 
you,  or  even  your  words  related  by  another,  though  ever 
so  rude  and  unskilful  a  speaker,  be  that  person  a  woman, 
man,  or  child,  we  are  struck  and  retained,  as  it  were,  by 
the  discourse  clinging  to  our  mind. 

“  If  I  was  not  afraid  that  I  am  a  great  deal  too  drunk, 
I  would  confirm  to  you  by  an  oath  the  strange  effects 
which  I  assure  you  I  have  suffered  from  his  words,  and 
suffer  still;  for  when  I  hear  him  speak  my  heart  leaps  up 
far  more  than  the  hearts  of  those  who  celebrate  the  Cory- 
bantie  mysteries;  my  tears  are  poured  out  as  he  talks,  a 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


thing  I  have  often  seen  happen  to  many  others  besides 
myself.  I  have  heard  Pericles  and  other  excellent  orators, 
and  have  been  pleased  with  their  discourses,  but  I  suffered 
nothing  of  this  kind;  nor  was  my  soul  ever  on  those  occa¬ 
sions  disturbed  and  filled  with  self-reproach,  as  if  it  were 
slavishly  laid  prostrate.  But  this  Marsyas  here  has  often 
affected  me  in  the  way  I  describe,  until  the  life  which  I 
lived  seemed  hardly  worth  living.  Do  not  deny  it,  Soc¬ 
rates;  for  I  know  well  that  if  even  now  I  chose  to  listen 
to  you,  I  could  not  resist,  but  should  again  suffer  the  same 
effects.  For,  my  friends,  he  forces  me  to  confess  that 
while  I  myself  am  still  in  need  of  many  things,  I  neglect 
my  own  necessities  and  attend  to  those  of  the  Athenians. 
I  stop  my  ears,  therefore,  as  from  the  Syrens,  and  flee 
away  as  fast  as  possible,  that  I  may  not  sit  down  beside 
him,  and  grow  old  in  listening  to  his  talk.  For  this  man 
has  reduced  me  to  feel  the  sentiment  of  shame,  which  I 
imagine  no  one  would  readily  believe  was  in  me.  For  I 
feel  in  his  presence  my  incapacity  of  refuting  what  he 
says  or  of  refusing  to  do  that  which  he  directs :  but  when 
I  depart  from  him  the  glory  which  the  multitude  confers 
overwhelms  me.  I  escape  therefore  and  hide  myself  from 
him,  and  when  I  see  him  I  am  overwhelmed  with  humili¬ 
ation,  because  I  have  neglected  to  do  what  I  have  con¬ 
fessed  to  him  ought  to  be  done:  and  often  and  often  have 
1  wished  that  he  were  no  longer  to  be  seen  among  men. 
But  if  that  were  to  happen  I  well  know  that  I  should 
suffer  far  greater  pain ;  so  that  where  I  can  turn,  or  what 
I  can  do  with  this  man  I  know  not.  All  this  have  I  and 
many  others  suffered  from  the  pipings  of  this  satyr. 

“  And  observe  how  like  he  is  to  what  I  said,  and  what 
a  wonderful  power  he  possesses.  Know  that  there  is  not 
one  of  you  who  is  aware  of  the  real  nature  of  Socrates; 
but  since  I  have  begun,  I  will  make  him  plain  to  you. 
You  observe  how  passionately  Socrates  affects  the  intimacy 
of  those  who  are  beautiful,  and  how  ignorant  he  professes 
'  himself  to  be;  appearances  in  themselves^ excessively  Silenic. 
This,  my  friends,  is  the  external  form  with  which,  like  one 
of  the  sculptured  Sileni,  he  has  clothed  himself ;  for  if  you 


INTRODUCTION. 


21 


open  him  you  will  find  within  admirable  temperance  and 
wisdom.  For  he  cares  not  for  mere  beauty,  but  despises 
more  than  any  one  can  imagine  all  external  possessions, 
whether  it  be  beauty,  or  wealth,  or  glory,  or  any  other 
thing  for  which  the  multitude  felicitates  the  possessor. 
He  esteems  these  things,  and  us  who  honor  them,  as 
nothing,  and  lives  among  men,  making  all  the  objects  of 
their  admiration  the  playthings  of  his  irony.  But  I 
know  not  if  any  one  of  you  have  ever  seen  the  divine 
images  which  are  within,  when  he  has  been  opened,  and  is 
serious.  I  have  seen  them,  and  they  are  so  supremely 
beautiful,  so  golden,  so  divine,  and  wonderful,  that  every¬ 
thing  that  Socrates  commands  surely  ought  to  be  obeyed, 
even  like  the  voice  of  a  god. 

:$e  tfs  ij:  $  ❖  ❖ 

“  At  one  time  we  were  fellow-soldiers,  and  had  our  mess 
together  in  the  camp  before  Potidaea.  Socrates  there 
overcame  not  only  me,  but  every  one  beside,  in  endurance 
of  evils:  when,  as  often  happens  in  a  campaign,  we  were 
reduced  to  few  provisions,  there  were  none  who  could 
sustain  hunger  like  Socrates;  and  when  we  had  plenty, 
he  alone  seemed  to  enjoy  our  military  fare.  He  never 
drank  much  willingly,  but  when  he  was  compelled,  he 
conquered  all  even  in  that  to  which  he  was  least  accus¬ 
tomed:  and,  what  is  most  astonishing,  no  person  ever  saw 
Socrates  drunk  either  then  or  at  any  other  time.  In  the 
depth  of  winter  (and  the  winters  there  are  excessively 
rigid)  he  sustained  calmly  incredible  hardships :  and 
amongst  other  things,  whilst  the  frost  was  intolerably 
severe,  and  no  one  went  out  of  their  tents,  or  if  they  went 
out,  wrapped  themselves  up  carefully,  and  put  fleeces 
under  their  feet,  and  bound  their  legs  with  hairy  skins, 
Socrates  went  out  only  with  the  same  cloak  on  that  he 
usually  wore,  and  walked  barefoot  upon  the  ice:  more 
easily,  indeed,  than  those  who  had  sandaled  themselves 
so  delicately:  so  that  the  soldiers  thought  that  he  did  it 
to  mock  their  want  of  fortitude.  It  would  indeed  be 
worth  while  to  commemorate  all  that  this  brave  man  did 


22 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


■kJ 

and  endured  in  that  expedition.  In  one  instance  he  was 
seen  early  in  the  morning,  standing  in  one  place,  wrapt  in 
meditation ;  and  as  he  seemed  unable  to  unravel  the  subject 
of  his  thoughts,  he  still  continued  to  stand  as  inquiring 
and  discussing  within  himself,  and  when  noon  came,  the 
soldiers  observed  him,  and  said  to  one  another — “  Soc¬ 
rates  has  been  standing  there  thinking,  ever  since  the 
morning.”  At  last  some  Ionians  came  to  the  spot,  and 
having  supped,  as  it  was  summer,  they  lay  down  to  sleep 
in  the  cool :  they  observed  that  Socrates  continued  to  stand 
there  the  whole  night  until  morning,  and  that,  when  the 
sun  rose,  he  saluted  it  with  a  prayer  and  departed. 

“  I  ought  not  to  omit  what  Socrates  is  in  battle.  For 
in  that  battle  after  which  the  generals  decreed  to  me  the 
prize  of  courage,  Socrates  alone  of  all  men  was  the  savior 
of  my  life,  standing  by  me  when  I  had  fallen  and  was 
wounded,  and  preserving  both  myself  and  my  arms  from 
the  hands  of  the  enemy.  On  that  occasion  I  entreated 
the  generals  to  decree  the  prize,  as  it  was  most  due,  to 
him.  And  this,  0  Socrates,  you  cannot  deny,  that  when 
the  generals,  wishing  to  conciliate  a  person  of  my  rank, 
desired  to  give  me  the  prize,  you  were  far  more  earnestly 
desirous  than  the  generals  that  this  glory  should  be  at¬ 
tributed  not  to  yourself,  but  me. 

“But  to  see  Socrates  when  our  army  was  defeated  and 
scattered  in  flight  at  Delium  was  a  spectacle  worthy  to 
behold.  On  that  occasion  I  was  among  the  cavalry,  and 
he  on  foot,  heavily  armed.  After  the  total  rout  of  our 
troops,  he  and  Laches  retreated  together;  I  came  up  bv 
chance,  and  seeing  them,  bade  them  be  of  good  cheer,  for 
that  I  would  not  leave  them.  As  I  was  on  horseback,  and 
therefore  less  occupied  by  a  regard  of  my  own  situation, 
I  could  better  observe  than  at  Potidsea  the  beautiful  spec¬ 
tacle  exhibited  by  Socrates  on  this  emergency.  How  su¬ 
perior  was  he  to  Laches  in  presence  of  mind  and  courage! 
Your  representation  of  him  on  the  stage,  0  Aristophanes, 
was  not  wholly  unlike  his  real  self  on  this  occasion,  for  he 
walked  and  darted  his  regards  around  with  a  majestic 
composure,  looking  tranquilly  both  on  his  friends  and 


INTRODUCTION. 


23 


enemies:  so  that  it  was  evident  to  every  one,  even  from 
afar,  that  whoever  should  venture  to  attack  him  would 
encounter  a  desperate  resistance.  He  and  his  companions 
thus  departed  in  safety:  for  those  who  are  scattered  in 
flight  are  pursued  and  killed,  whilst  men  hesitate  to  touch 
those  who  exhibit  such  a  countenance  as  that  of  Socrates 
even  in  defeat. 

“  Many  other  and  most  wonderful  qualities  might  well 
be  praised  in  Socrates,  but  such  as  these  might  singly  be 
attributed  to  others.  But  that  which  is  unparalleled  in 
Socrates  is  that  he  is  unlike  and  above  comparison  with 
all  other  men,  whether  those  who  have  lived  in  ancient 
times,  or  those  who  exist  now.  For  it  may  be  conjectured 
that  Brasidas  and  many  others  are  such  as  was  Achilles. 
Pericles  deserves  comparison  with  Nestor  and  Antenor; 
and  other  excellent  persons  of  various  times  may,  with 
probability,  be  drawn  into  comparison  with  each  other. 
But  to  such  a  singular  man  as  this,  both  himself  and  his 
discourses  are  so  uncommon,  no  one,  should  he  seek,  would 
find  a  parallel  among  the  present  or  past  generations  of 
mankind;  unless  they  should  say  that  he  resembled  those 
with  whom  I  lately  compared  him,  for  assuredly  he  and 
his  discourses  are  like  nothing  but  the  Sileni  and  the 
Satyrs.  At  first  I  forgot  to  make  you  observe  how  like  his 
discourses  are  to  those  Satyrs  when  they  are  opened,  for 
if  any  one  will  listen  to  the  talk  of  Socrates,  it  will  ap¬ 
pear  to  him  at  first  extremely  ridiculous:  the  phrases  and 
expressions  which  he  employs,  fold  round  his  exterior  the 
skin,  as  it  were,  of  a  rude  and  wanton  Satyr.  He  is 
always  talking  about  great  market-asses,  and  brass-found¬ 
ers,  and  leather-cutters,  and  skin -dressers;  and  this  is  his 
perpetual  custom,  so  that  any  dull  and  unobservant  per¬ 
son  might  easily  laugh  at  his  discourse.  But  if  any  one 
should  see  it  opened,  as  it  were,  and  get  within  the  sense  of 
his  words,  he  would  then  find  that  they  alone  of  all  that 
enters  into  the  mind  of  men  to  utter,  had  a  profound  and 
persuasive  meaning,  and  that  they  were  most  divine;  and 
that  they  presented  to  the  mind  innumerable  images  of 
every  excellence,  and  that  they  tended  towards  objects  of 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


21 

the  highest  moment,  or  rather  towards  all  that  he,  who 
seeks  the  possession  of  what  is  supremely  excellent  and 
good,  need  regard  as  essential  to  the  accomplishment  of 
his  ambition. 

“  These  are  the  things,  my  friends,  for  which  I  praise 
Socrates.” 

After  that,  Socrates,  Aristophanes  and  Agatlion  sat  the 
night  out  in  conversation,  till  Socrates  made  the  other 
two,  who  were  very  tired  and  sleepy,  admit  that  a  man 
who  could  write  tragedy  could  write  comedy,  and  that 
the  foundations  of  the  tragic  and  comic  arts  were  the  same. 
Then  Aristophanes  and  Agathon  fell  asleep  in  the  early 
morning,  and  Socrates  went  away  and  washed  himself  at 
the  Lyceum,  “  and  having  spent  the  day  there  in  his  ac¬ 
customed  manner,  went  home  in  the  evening.” 

We  have  now  reached  the  events  recorded  in  our  dia¬ 
logues.  In  399  B.c.  Socrates  was  put  on  his  trial  for  cor¬ 
rupting  young  men  and  for  not  believing  in  the  gods  of 
Athens;  and  on  these  charges  he  was  found  guilty  and 
condemned  to  death.  His  death  was  delayed  by  a  State 
religious  ceremonial,  and  he  lay  in  prison  for  thirty  days. 
His  friends  implored  him  to  escape,  which  he  might  easily 
have  done,  but  he  refused  to  listen  to  them ;  and  when  the 
time  came  he  cheerfully  drank  the  poison  and  died.  It 
is  convenient  to  pause  here  for  a  little,  before  we  go  on  to 
speak  of  these  events  in  detail,  in  order  to  get  some  idea 
of  Socrates  as  a  thinker.  With  a  very  large  number  of 
questions  concerning  his  philosophy  we  have  nothing  to 
do.  But  it  is  essential,  if  we  are  to  understand  these  dia¬ 
logues  at  all,  that  we  should  know  something  about  cer- 
tain  points  of  it. 

The  pre-Soeratic  philosophers  had  been  occupied  almost 
exclusively  with  Physics  and  Metaphysics.  They  had  tried 
to  solve  the  problem  of  the  Universe  regarded  as  an  undis- 
tinguishable  whole.  They  had  inquired  into  the  nature  of 
the  Cosmos,  and  had  sought  to  find  some  universal  first 
principle,  such  as  Air,  Fire,  or  Water,  to  explain  it.  They 
had  asked  such  questions  as  How  do  things  come  into 
being?  How  do  they  exist?  Why  do  they  decay?  But 


INTRODUCTION. 


25 


in  the  middle  of  the  fifth  century  b.c.  they  had  failed  to 
satisfy  men,  and  were  falling  into  discredit.  ,  In  a  city  like 
Athens,  which  had  suddenly  shot  up  into  an  imperial 
democracy,  and  which  was  full  of  such  keen  and  varied 
intellectual  activity,  it  was  simply  inevitable  that  ethical 
and  political  inquiries  should  take  the  place  of  those  vague 
physical  speculations.  The  questions  which  interested  the. 
Athenians  of  the  time  were  questions  relating  to  the  indi¬ 
vidual  and  society,  not  to  the  Cosmos.  Men  had  begun  to 
dispute  in  an  unscientific  way  about  justice  and  injustice, 
right  and  wrong,  the  good  and  the  expedient.  They  had 
begun  to  ask,  What  is  justice  and  right,  and  the  good? 
Why  is  a  thing  said  to  oe  just,  or  right,  or  good?  The 
pre-Socratic  philosophers  could  give  no  answer  to  such 
questions.  They  had  been  conversant  not  with  conduct, 
but  with  Physics  and  Metaphysics.  The  demand  for 
ethical  and  political  discussion  (or  disputation)  was  to 
some  extent  met  by  their  successors,  the  Sophists,  who 
were  paid  teachers  (generally  foreigners),  and  who  pro¬ 
fessed  to  educate  men  for  public  and  private-  life  at 
Athens.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  controversy  about  their 
exact  character  and  teaching,  with  which  we  are  not  con¬ 
cerned.  We  need  not  ask  whether  they  were  a  sect  or  a 
profession;  whether  or  no  their  teaching  was  immoral; 
how  far  they  were  the  cause,  and  how  far  the  effect  of  the 
new  intellectual  movement  at  Athens.  The  point  on  which 
I  wish  to  lay  stress  is  that  the  morality  which  they  were 
content  to  accept  and  teach  was  merely  the  mass  of  con¬ 
fused  and  inconsistent  ideas  about  ethics  and  politics 
which  were  current  at  Athens.  The  whole  of  their  ethical 
and  political  education  was  based  on  those  often  repeated 
and  unexamined  commonplaces,  against  which  Socrate 
waged  unceasing  war.  They  were  not  scientific.  The} 
had  no  sense  at  all  of  the  inherent  vice  of  the  popular 
thought  and  morality,  and  they  did  not  aim  at  any  reform. 
Their  object  was  not  to  teach  their  pupils  the  truth,  but 
to  qualify  them  for  social  and  political  success.  All  that 
they  did  was  to  formulate  popular  ideas;  There  is  an 
extremely  remarkable  passage  in  the  Republic,  in  which 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


20 

Plato  describes  their  teaching.  These  mercenary  adven¬ 
turers,  he  says,  who  are  called  Sophists,  teach  in  fact  merely 
popular  opinions,  and  call  them  wisdom :  and  he  goes  on 
to  compare  them  with  a  man  who  has  learnt  by  experience 
to  understand  the  temper  and  wants  of  some  huge  and 
dangerous  wild  beast,  and  has  found  out  when  it  is  safe  to 
approach  it,  and  what  sounds  irritate  it  and  soothe  it,  and 
what  its  various  cries  mean,  and  who,  having  acquired 
this  knowledge,  calls  it  wisdom,  and  systematises  it  into 
an  art,  and  proceeds  to  teach  it.  What  pleases  the  beast 
he  calls  right,  and  what  displeases  it  he  calls  wrong; 
though  he  is  utterly  ignorant  which  of  its  desires  and 
wrants  are,  in  fact,  right  and  good,  and  which  are  the  re¬ 
verse.  In  exactly  the  same  way,  says  Plato,  the  Sophist 
makes  wisdom  consist  in  understanding  the  fancies  and 
temper  of  that  “  many-headed  beast,”  the  multitude, 
though  he  has  not  an  argument  that  is  not  supremely 
ridiculous  to  show  that  what  the  multitude  approves  of  is, 
in  fact,  right  and  good.  In  short  the  Sophists  dealt,  it  is 
true,  with  ethical  and  political  questions,  but  they  dealt 
with  them  in  the  most  superficial  way.  Often  enough  they 
were  contemptible  charlatans. 

y  At  this  point,  some  time  after  the  Sophists  had  begun 
to  educate  men,  and  when  the  new  intellectual  and  critical 
movement  was  in  full  swing,  came  Socrates.  Like  the 
Sophists  he  dealt  with  'ethical  and  political  questions;  to 
such  questions  he  strictly  and  exclusively  confined  him¬ 
self.  “  He  conversed,”  says  Xenophon,  “  only  about 
matters  relating  to  men.  He  was  always  inquiring  What 
is  piety?  What  is  impiety ?  What  is  honorable?  What  is 
base?  '  What  is  justice?  What  is  injustice?  What  is  tem¬ 
perance?  What  is  madness?  What  is  courage?  What 
is  cowardice?  What  is  a  state?  What  is  a  states¬ 
man?  What  is  government?  What  makes  a  man  fit  to 
govern  ?  and  so  on ;  and  he  used  to  say  that  those  who 
could  answer  such  questions  were  good  men,  and  that 
those  who  could  not,  were  no  better  than  slaves.”  So,  in 
the  Laches  of  Plato,  he  asks,  What  is  courage?  In  the 
Charmidcs,  What  is  temperance?  In  the  first  of  our  dia- 


INTRODUCTION. 


27 


logues,  the  Euthyphron,  What  are  holiness  and  piety?  In 
the  Lysis,  What  is  friendship?  The  difference  between 
Socrates  and  preceding  philosophers,  in  regard  to  the  sub¬ 
ject  matter  of  their  respective  philosophies,  is  complete. 
They  were  occupied  with  Nature:  he  was  occupied  with 
man.  And  the  difference  between  him  and  the  Sophists, 
in  regard  to  method,  and  to  the  point  of  view  from  which 
they  respectively  dealt  with  ethical  and  political  questions, 
is  not  less  complete.  His  object  was  to  reform  what  they 
were  content  simply  to  formulate,  hie  was  thoroughly 
convinced  of  the  inherent  vice  and  hollowness  of  whajn — -j 
passed  for  knowledge  at  that  time.  In  the  Apology  we 
shall  constantly  hear  of  men  who  thought  themselves  wise, 
though  they  were  not  wise;  who  fancied  that  they  knew 
what  they  did  not  know.  They  used  general  terms  which 
implied  classification.  They  said  that  this  or  that  act  was 
just  or  unjust,  right  or  wrong.  They  were  ready  on  every 
occasion  to  state  propositions  about  man  and  society  with 
unhesitating  confidence.  The  meaning  of  such  common 
words  as  justice,  piety,  democracy,  government,  seemed 
so  familiar,  that  it  never  for  a  moment  occurred  to  them 
to  doubt  whether  they  knew  what  “justice,”  or  “piety,” 
or  “  democracy,”  or  “  government  ”  exactly  meant.  But 
in  fact  they  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  analyze  and 
make  clear  to  themselves  the  meaning  of  their  words. 
They  had  been  content  “  to  feel  and  affirm.”  General 
words  had  come  to  comprehend  in  their  meaning  a  very 
complex  multitude  of  vague  and  ill-assorted  attributes, 
and  to  represent  in  the  minds  of  those  who  used  them 
nothing  more  than  a  floating  collection  of  confused  and 
indefinite  ideas.  It  is  a  fact,  which  it  is  not  quite  easy 
for  us  to  realize,  that  Socrates  was  practically  the  first  man 
to  frame  a  definition.  “  Two  things,”  says  Aristotle, 
“may  fairly  be  ascribed  to  Socrates,  namely  Induction, 
and  the  Definition  of  general  Terms.”  Until  his  time 
the  meaning  of  words,  which  were  used  every  day  in  con¬ 
nection  with  the  commonest,  and  the  greatest  and  the 
gravest  duties  of  life,  had  never  once  been  tested,  revised, 
examined.  It  had  grown  up  gradually  and  unconsciously, 


28 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


never  distinct  and  clearly  defined.  It  was  the  creation 
of  years  of  sentiment,  poetry,  authority,  and  tradition: 
it  had  never  been  corrected  or  analyzed  by  reason.  There 
is  a  sentence  in  Bacon  which  describes  very  felicitously 
the  intellectual  condition  of  the  Athenians  of  that  time: — 
“  Itaque  ratio  ilia  humana  quam  habemus,  ex  multa  fide, 
et  multo  etiam  casu,  necnon  ex  puerilibus  quas  primo 
hausimus  notionibus,  farrago  quasdam  est  et  congeries.” 
“  This  human  reason  of  ours  is  a  confused  multitude  and 
mixture  of  ideas,  made  up,  very  largely  by  accident,  of 
much  credulity  and  of  the  opinions  which  we  inherited 
long  ago  in  our  childhood.”  Such  inaccurate  use  of  lan¬ 
guage  led,  as  it  was  bound  to  lead,  to  inaccurate  and  loose 
reasoning.  “  Every  (process  of  reasoning)  consists  of 
propositions,  and  propositions  consist  of  words  which  are 
the  symbols  of  notions;  and  therefore  if  our  notions  are 
confused  and  badly  abstracted  from  things,  there  is  no 
stability  in  the  structure  which  is  built  upon  them.”  As 
Socrates  puts  it  in  thePhcedo,  “  to  use  words  wrongly  and 
indefinitely  is  not  merely  an  error  in  itself :  it  also  creates 
an  evil  in  the  soul.”  That  is  to  say,  it  not  only  makes 
exact  thought,  and  therefore  knowledge,  impossible:  it 
also  creates  careless  and  slovenly  habits  of  mind.  And  this 
inaccurate  use  of  language,  and  the  consequent  intellectual 
confusion,  were  not  confined  to  any  one  class  at  Athens. 
They  were  almost  universal.  It  was  not  merely  among 
the  noted  men  with  a  great  reputation  that  Socrates  found 
the  “  conceit  of  knowledge  ”  without  the  reality.  The 
poets  could  not  explain  their  own  poems,  and  further,  be¬ 
cause  they  were  famous  as  poets,  they  claimed  to  under¬ 
stand  other  matters  of  which  they  were,  in  fact,  profoundly 
ignorant.  The  skilled  artizans  were  able,  it  is  true,  to  give 
an  account,  each  of  the  rules  of  his  own  art ;  but  they  too, 
like  the  poets,  claimed  to  possess  knowledge  in  matters  of 
the  greatest  importance  ( i.e .  questions  affecting  man  and 
society),  which  they  did  not  possess,  on  account  of  their 
technical  skill:  and  “this  fault  of  theirs,”  says  Socrates, 
“threw  their  real  wisdom  into  the  shade.”  And  men  of 
all  classes  were  profoundly  ignorant  that  they  were  ignor- 


INTRODUCTION 


ant.  They  did  not  understand  defining 
peared  to  them  to  be  contemptible  hair-spin 
is  piety  ?  ”  asked  Socrates  of  Euthyphron,  a  n. 
thought  a  great  deal  about  religious  questions, 
replies  Euthyphron,  “means  acting  as  I  am  acting, 
had  never  analyzed  or  defined  his  words.  He  did  n 
the  least  understand  what  definition  meant,  or  the  nee 
sity  for  it.  Such  and  such  an  act  was  pious ;  but  he  couk 
not  justify  his  proposition  by  bringing  it  under  the  univer¬ 
sal  proposition,  the  definition  of  piety,  or  tell  why  his 
act  was  pious.  Cross-examination  makes  him  contradict 
himself  over  and  over  again.  The  simplest  way  of  com¬ 
prehending  the  confusion  of  thought  and  language  which 
Socrates  found  on  every  side,  is  to  read  the  Eutliypliron. 
And  if  we  examine  ourselves  I  think  that  we  shalLfind 
that  even  we,  like  Euthyphron,  not.  uncommonly  use  gen¬ 
eral  terms  of  the  greatest  importance  without  affixing  a 
very  definite  meaning  to  them.  In  our  times  the  Press  has 
become  the  public  instructor.  We  have  only  to  take  tip 
a  newspaper,  and  read  a  religious,  or  political,  or  ethical 
debate  or  argument,  to  have  a  very  fair  chance  of  seeing 
repeated  examples  of  general  and  abstract  terms  used  in 
the  loosest  and  vaguest  way  possible.  Such  words 
as  “patriotism,”  “superstition,”  “justice,”  “right,” 
“wrong,”  “honor,”  are  not  uncommonly  used  by  us,  in 
public,  and  in  private,  with  no  more  distinct  or  definite  a 
meaning  given  to  them,  than  that  which  Euthyphron 
gave  to  “  piety.” 

On  this  basis  rested  Athenian  opinion.  We  are  now  in 
a  position  to  understand  so  much  of  Socrates’  philosophi¬ 
cal  reforms  as  concerns  us.  He  was  filled  with  the  most 
intense  conviction  of  the  supreme  and  overwhelming  im¬ 
portance  of  truth:  of  the  paramount  duty  of  doing  right, 
because  it  is  right,  on  every  occasion,  be  the  consequences 
what  they  may.  “  My  friend,”  he  says,  in  his  defense,  to 
a  supposed  objector,  “  if  you  think  that  a  man  of  any 
worth  at  all  ought,  when  he  acts,  to  take  into  account  the 
risk  of  death,  or  that  he  ought  to  think  of  anything  but 
whether  he  is  doing  right  or  wrong,  you  make  a  mistake,” 


>D  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

hole  time  in  going  about,  persuading  you 
/and  young,  to  give  your  first  and  chiefest  * 
perfection  of  your  souls,  and,  not  till  you  have 
,  to  care  for  your  bodies  or  your  wealth:  and  tel  1- 
,a  that  virtue  does  not  come  from  wealth,  but  that 
A),  and  every -good  thing  which  men  have,  comes  from 
.tue.”  “  We  are  guided  by  reason,”  is  his  answer  when, 
Orito  was  imploring  him  to  escape  irom  prison,  after  he 
'  Been  condemned  to  death,  ‘‘and  reason  shows  us-that 
the  onlv  question  which  we  have  "to  c'dhsider  is,  Shall  I  be 
doing  right,  or  shall  I  be  doing  wrong,  if  I  escape?  And 
if  we  find  that  I  should  be  doing  wrong,  then  we  must  not 
take  any  account  of  death,  or  of  any  other  evil  which  may 
be  the  consequence  of  staying  here,  but  only  of  doing 
wrong.”  That  such  a  man  should  feel  the  deepest  dissatis¬ 
faction  with  what  passed  for  thought  and  morality  at 
Athens,  was  simply  inevitable.  “  The  current  opinions 
drawn  from  men’s  practical  exigencies,  imperfect  observa¬ 
tion,  and  debased  morality,  were  no  sounder  than  their 
sources.  And  with  this  dissatisfaction  was  joined  a  con¬ 
viction  that  God  had  given  him  a  duty  to  reform  “this 
mass  of  error  and  conventionality,  which  meanwhile  the 
Sophists  were  accepting  as  the  material  of  their  system:” 
a  duty  from  which  he  never  shrank,  although  he  knew 
that  it  might,  as  in  fact  it  did,  cost  him  his  life.  In  order 
to  comprehend  the  Euthyphron ,  Apology,  and  Crito ,  we 
must  ask  and  answer  two  questions.  First,  What  was 
Socrates’  conception  of  reform?  Secondly,  What  was  his 
method  ? 

1.  The  principle  of  Socrates’  reform  may  be  stated  in  a 
single  sentence.  It  was  “to  reconstruct  human  opinion 
on  a  basis  of  ‘  reasoned  truth.’  ”  Conduct  which  pro¬ 
ceeded  from  emotion,  enthusiasm,  impulse,  habit,  and  not 
from  reason,  he  would  not  allow  to  be  virtuous^  His  whole 
teaching  rested  on  the  paradox  that  “virtue  is  knowl¬ 
edge.”  This  is  the  leading  idea  of  his  attempt  to  reform 
morality,  and  it  must  always  be  borne  in  mind.  It  is 
perpetually  alluded  to  in  our  dialogues.  He  describes  bis 
ceaseless  cross-examination  of  men  as  undertaken  with 


INTRODUCTION. 


31 


the  object  of  testing  their  knowledge,  and  of  preaching  the 
supreme  importance  of  virtue,  indifferently.  And  con¬ 
versely,  if  Virtue  is  Knowledge,  Vice  is  Ignorance,  and 
consequently  involuntary.  He  always  assumes  that  the 
crime  of  corrupting  young  men  of  which  he  was  accused 
was  caused,  if  he  had  committed  it,  not  by  moral  de¬ 
pravity,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  but  by  ignor¬ 
ance.  “You  are.  a  liar,  Meletus,  and  you  know  it,”  he 
retorts,  on  being  t  old  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  corrupt¬ 
ing  the  youth  intentionally ;  “  either  I  do  not  corrupt 
young  men  at  all,  or  I  corrupt  them  unintentionally,  and 
by  reason  of  my  ignorance.  As  soon  as  I  know  that  I  am 
committing  a  crime,  of  course  I  shall  cease  from  commit¬ 
ting  it.”  A  man  who  knows  what  is  right,  must  always 
do  right:  a  man  who  does  not  know  what  is  right,  cannot 
do  right.  “  We  needs  must  love  the  highest  when  we  see 
it.”  Knowledge  is  not  a  part,  it  is  not  even  an  indispensa¬ 
ble  condition  of  virtue.  It  is  virtue.  The  two  things  are 
the  same.  We  draw  a  distinction  between  Knowledge 
and  Wisdom.  The  former 

‘  is  earthly,  of  the  mind, 

But  Wisdom,  heavenly,  of  the  soil.’ 

But  Socrates  drew  no  distinction  between  them.  To  him 
they  were  identical.  It  is  needless  to  point  out  that  this 
doctrine,  which  takes  no  account  of  that  most  essential 
side  of  virtue  which  is  non-intellectual,  is  defective,  in 
that  it  puts  a  part  for  the  whole.  But  from  this  doctrine 
Socrates  started.  He  wished  to  reform  morality  from  the 
intellectual  side.  Above  all  things  a  preacher  of 
“  Virtue,”  he  devoted  his  life  to  a  search  after  knowledge. 
Knowledge  to  him  was  the  same  as  morality. 

2.  In  order  to  understand  the  method  of  Socrates’  re¬ 
form,  it  is  necessary  to  recall  the  fact  that  he  found  him¬ 
self  confronted  with  a  general  absence,  not  of  knowledge 
only,  but  of  the  very  idea  of  knowledge.  The  result  of  his 
constant  examination  and  sifting  of  men  was  to  prove  that 
his  contemporaries  of  every  class,  and  above  all  those  of 


32  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

them  who  were  most  satisfied  with  themselves,  and  whose 
reputation  for  wisdom  was  highest,  were  generally  in  a 
state  of  that  “  shameful  ignorance  which  consists  in  think¬ 
ing  that  we  know  what  we  do  not  know.”  And  the  gravest 
symptom  of  this  state  of  things  was  that  the  Athenians 
were  perfectly  well  satisfied  with  it.  It  never  crossed 
their  minds  for  a  moment  to  doubt  the  complete  ade¬ 
quacy  of  what  they  considered  to  be  knowledge,  though 
in  fact  it  was  merely  a  hollow  sham.  Socrates’  first  ob¬ 
ject  then  was  to  clear  the  ground,  to  get  rid  of  men’s 
ignorance  of  their  ignorance,  to  reveal  to  them  their 
actual  short-coming.  Like  Bacon,  he  set  himself  the  task 
of  “  throwing  entirely  aside  received  theories  and  concep¬ 
tions,  and  of  applying  his  mind,  so  cleansed,  afresh  to 
facts.”  •’The  first  step  in  his  method  was  destructive.  It 
was  to  convict  and  convince  men  of  their  ignorance  by 
means  of  his  wonderful  cross-examination.  He  was  for 
ever  bringing  to  the  test  the  current  common-places,  the 
unexpressed  popular  judgments  about  life,  which  were 
never  examined  or  revised,  and  the  truth  of  which  was 
taken  for  granted  by  every  one.  He  spent  his  days  in 
talking  to  any  one  who  would  talk  to  him.  A  man  in  the- 
course  of  conversation  used  a  general  or  abstract  term, 
such  as  “courage,”  “justice,”  “the  state.”  Socrates 
asked  for  a  definition  of  it.  The  other,  never  doubting 
that  he  knew  all  about  it,  gave  an  answer  at  once.  The 
word  seemed  familiar  enough  to  him:  he  constantly  used 
it,  though  he  had  never  taken  the  trouble  to  ask  himself 
what  it  exactly  meant.  Then  Socrates  proceeded  to  test 
the  definition  offered  him,  by  applying  it  to  particular 
cases,  by  putting  questions  about  it,  by  analyzing  it.  He 
probably  found  without  much  difficulty  that  it  was  de¬ 
fective:  either  too  narrow,  or  too  broad,  or  contradictory  of 
uome  other  general  proposition  which  had  been  laid  down. 
Then  the  respondent  amended  his  definition:  but  a  fresh 
series  of  similar  questions  •  soon  led  him  into  hopeless 
difficulties;  and  he  was  forced  at  last  to  confess,  or  at 
least  to  feel,  that  he  was  ignorant  where  he  had  thought 
that  he  was  wise,  that  he  had  nothing  like  clear  knowl- 


INTRODUCTION. 


33 


edge  of  what  the  word  in  question  really  and  exactly 
meant.  The  Euthyphron  is  a  perfect  specimen  of  the 
Socratic  examination  or  elenclios.  Let  me  give  another 
very  good  example  from  Xenophon.  Euthydemus,  who  is 
taking  great  pains  to  qualify  himself  for  political  life, 
has  no  doubt  that  justice  is  an  essential  attribute  of  a 
good  citizen.  He  scorns  the  idea  that  he  does  not  know 
what  justice  and  injustice  are,  when  he  can  see  so  many 
examples  of  them  every  day.  It  is  unjust  to  lie,  to  de¬ 
ceive,  to  rob,  to  do  harm,  to  enslave.  But,  objects  Soc¬ 
rates,  it  is  not  unjust  to  deceive,  or  to  enslave,  or  to  in¬ 
jure  your  enemies.  Euthydemus  then  says  that  it  is  un¬ 
just  to  treat  your  friends  so.  It  is  just  to  deal  thus  with 
your  enemies.  Well,  rejoins  Socrates,  is  a  general  who 
inspirits  his  army  with  a  lie,  or  a  father  who  gets  his  son 
to  take  necessary  medicine  by  means  of  a  lie,  or  a  man 
who  takes  away  a  sword  from  his  friend  who  is  attempt¬ 
ing  to  commit  suicide  in  a  fit  of  insanity,  unjust? 
Euthydemus  admits  that  such  acts  are  just,  and  wishes 
to  alter  the  definition.  Then  does  injustice  mean  deceiv¬ 
ing  one’s  friends  for  their  harm?  “Indeed,  Socrates,” 
replies  Euthydemus.  “  I  no  longer  believe  in  mv  answers : 
everything  seems  to  me  different  from,  what  it  used  to 
seem.”  A  further  question,  namely,  {Are  you  unjust  if 
you  injure  your  friends  unintentionally?  is  discussed  with 
a  similar  result,  which  Socrates  attributes  to  the  fact  that 
Euthydemus  perhaps  has  never  considered  these  points, 
because  they  seemed  so  familiar  to  him.  Then  Socrates 
asks  him  what  a  democracy  is  (of  course  Euthydemus 
knows  that,  fo1-  he  is  going  to  lead  a  political  life  in  a 
democracy).  Euthydemus  replies  that  democracy  means 
government  by  the  people,  i.e.  by  the  poor.  He  defines 
the  poor  as  those  who  have  not  enough,  and  the  rich  as 
those  who  have  more  than  enough.  “  Enough,”  it  is 
pointed  out,  is  a  relative  term.  His  definition  would  in¬ 
clude  tyrants  among  the  poor,  and  many  men  with  quite 
small  means  among  the  rich.  At  this  point  Euthydemus 
who  had  begun  the  discussion  with  complete  self-com¬ 
placency,  goes  away  greatly  dejected.  “  Socrates  makes 
3 


34 


TRIAL  AND  DEATII  OF  SOCRATES. 


me  acknowledge  my  own  worthlessness.  I  had  best  be 
silent,  for  it  seems  that  I  know  nothing  at  all.”  To  pro¬ 
duce  this  painful  and  unexpected  consciousness  of  igno¬ 
rance  in  the  minds  of  men  who  thought  that  they  were 
wise,  when  they  were  not  wise,  and  who  were  perfectly  well 
satisfied  with  their  intellectual  condition,  was  the  first 
object  of  the  Socratic  cross-examination.  Such  conscious¬ 
ness  of  ignorance  was  the  first  and  a  long  step  towards 
knowledge.  A  man  who  had  reached  that  state  had  become 
at  any  rate  ready  to  begin  to  learn.  And  Socrates  was  able 
to  bring  every  one  with  whom  he  conversed  into  that  state. 
\  ery  many  who  were  treated  so  took  deep  offense :  among 
others,  his  accuser  Anytus.  Such  persons  he  called  lazy 
and  stupid.  Others,  like  Euthydemus,  spent  all  their  time 
afterwards  in  his  company,  and  were  then  no  longer  per¬ 
plexed  by  puzzling  questions,  but  encouraged. 

It  is  this  object  of  clearing  the  ground,  of  producing 
consciousness  of  ignorance,  that  Plato  dwells  on  his  por¬ 
trait  of  Socrates.  He  lays  great  stress  on  the  negative  and 
destructive  side  of  the  Socratic  philosoph}' :  but  he  says 
scarcely  anything  of  its  constructive  side.  It  may  well 
be  doubted  whether  there  was  very  much  to  say;  whether 
Socrates  did  in  fact  attempt  to  create  any  system  of  real 
knowledge  to  take  the  place  of  the  sham  knowledge  which 
he  found  existing.  Xenophon,  it  is  true,  represents  him  as 
framing  a  certain  number  of  definitions,  on  the  basis  of 
generally  admitted  facts.  “Pity,”  for  instance,  is  de¬ 
fined  as  “knowledge  of  what  is  due  to  the  gods;”  “jus¬ 
tice  ”  as  “  knowledge  of  what  is  due  to  men.”  But  I 
think  that  Socrates  would  have  said  that  these  definitions 
were  tentative  and  provisional  only,  and  designed  rather 
as  illustrations  of  a  method,  than  as  instalments  of  knowl¬ 
edge.  By  knowledge  he  meant  a  system  of  “  reasoned 
truth  ”  based  on  a  thorough  fresh  observation  and  exami¬ 
nation  of  particulars.  He  would  not  have  been  content  to 
take  these  “generally  admitted  facts”  as  the  basis  of  it. 
He  would  have  insisted  on  putting  them  to  the  test.  And 
certainly,  whatever  may  lie  the  meaning  and  value  of 
Xenophon’s  testimony,  nothing  can  be  more  emphatic  than 


INTRODUCTION. 


35 


the  way  in  which  the  Socrates  of  the  Apology  repeatedly 
says  that  he  knows  nothing  at  all.  “  I  was  never  any  man’s 
teacher.  .  .  I  have  never  taught,  and  I  have  never-" 
professed  to  teach  any  man  any  knowledge,”  is  his  answer 
to  the  charge  that  men  like  Critias  and  Alcibiades,  politi¬ 
cal  criminals  of  the  deepest  dye  in  the  eyes  of  the  democ¬ 
racy.  had  been  his  pupils.  His  object  was  to  impart,  not 
any  positive  system,  but  a  frame  of  mind:  to  make  men 
conscious  of  their  ignorance,  and  of  their  need  of  enlight¬ 
enment.  His  wisdom  was  merely  “  that  wisdom  which  he 
believed  was  (in  the  then  state  of  things)  possible  to  man.” 
In  other  words,  he  was  conscious  of  his  own  ignorance: 
and,  secondly,  he  possessed  a  standard  or  ideal  of  knowl¬ 
edge,  and  a  conception  of  the  method  of  attaining  it.  But 
he  possessed  no  connected  system  of  knowledge:  he  was 
only  conscious,  and  he  was  the  first  man  to  be  conscious  of 
the  necessity  of  it.  We  may  speak  of  him  as  a  philosopher^  * 
for  he  does  so  himself.  But  we  must  remember  that  phil¬ 
osophy  in  his  mouth  does  not  mean  the  possession  of  wis¬ 
dom,  but  only,  and  strictly,  the  love  of,  the  search  for,*f 
wisdom.  The  idea  of  knowledge  was  to  him  still  a  deep 
and  unfathomable  problem,  of  the  most  supreme  import¬ 
ance,  but  which  he  could  not  solve.  And  this  will  enable  us 
to  understand  better  the  meaning  of  his  famous  “  irony.” 

“  Here  is  a  piece  of  Socrates’  well-known  irony,”  cries 
Thrasymachus,  in  the  Republic,  “  I  knew  all  the  time 
that  you  would  refuse  to  answer,  and  feign  ignorance,  and 
do  anything  sooner  than  answer  a  plain  question.”  It 
seems  to  me  that  Socrates’  “  well-known  irony  ”  was  of 
more  than  one  kind.  His  professions  of  his  own  ignorance 
are  wholly  sincere.  They  are  not  meant  to  make  the  con¬ 
versation  amusing,  and  the  discomfiture  of  his  adversary 
more  complete.  He  never  wavered  in  his  belief  that  knowl¬ 
edge  was  ultimately  attainable ;  but  he  knew  that  he  knew 
nothing  himself,  and  in  that  his  knowledge  consisted. 
What  Thrasymachus  calls  his  irony,  is  not  irony  proper. 
The  ignorance  is  not  feigned  but  real.  It  is  in  his  treat¬ 
ment  of  vain  and  ignorant  and  self-satisfied  sciolists,  like 
Euthyphron,  that  true  irony,  which  is  accompanied  with 


36 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


the  consciousness  of  superiority,  seems  to  me  to  come  into 
play.  It  is  possible,  though  it  is  in  the  last  degree  un¬ 
likely,  that  Socrates  really  hoped  at  the  beginning  of  the 
dialogue  to  find  out  from  Euthyphron  what  piety  was; 
that  the  respect  which  he  showed  to  Euthyphron  was  real. 
But  it  is  plain  that  the  respect  which  he  shows  to  Euthy-  1 
phron  in  the  last  sentences  of  the  dialogue,  is  wholly 
feigned  and  ironical.  Euthyphron  had  been  proved  to  be 
utterly  ignorant  of  what  he  had  been  confident  that  he 
thoroughly  understood.  He  was  much  too  deeply  offended 
to  acknowledge,  or  even  to  be  conscious  of  his  ignorance; 
and  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  what  knowledge  really 
was.  Socrates  was  ignorant  too:  but  he  knew  that  he  was 
ignorant,  and  he  had  the  idea  of  knowledge.  If  he  was 
respectful  towards  Euthyphron  then,  the  respect  was 
feigned  and  ironical,  for  it  was  accompanied  with  a  con¬ 
sciousness  of  superiority. 

We  have  now  got,  I  hope,  a  sufficient  view  of  Socrates’ 
philosophy,  so  far  as  it  concerns  us.  Its  defects  lie  on  the 
surface,  and  are  too  obvious  to  need  explanation.  He  was, 
in  fact,  the  discoverer  of  the  idea  of  scientific  knowledge, 
and  he  not  unnaturally  exaggerated  the  value  of  his  dis¬ 
covery.  It  is  evidently  a  mistake  and  an  exaggeration  to 
call  a  man  ignorant  unless  he  not  only  knows,  but  can  also 
give  an  account  of  what  he  knows.  There  is  such  a  thing 
as  “implicit”  knowledge:  before  Socrates’  time  there  was 
no  other  kind.  Not  less  evidently  is  it  a  mistake  to  say 
that  Virtue  is  Knowledge.  Knowledge,  though  an  essential 
part,  is  certainly  very  far  indeed  from  being  the  whole  of 
Virtue.  And  a  theory  which  leads  to  such  sarcastic  com¬ 
ments  on  poets  as  Socrates  indulges  in,  which  would  try 
poetry  by  a  purely  intellectual  standard,  must,  on  the  face 
of  it,  be  defective.  But,  even  when  allowance  has  been 
made  for  these  defects  and  mistakes,  it  would  be  hard  to 
exaggerate  the  value  and  originality  of  his  teaching.  We 
have  some  difficulty  in  grasping  its  vast  importance.  We 
have  entered  into  the  fruit  of  his  labors.  What  was  a 
paradox  to  the  Athenians  is  a  commonplace  to  us.  To 
them  the  simple  principles  whieh  he  laid  down  seemed 


INTRODUCTION. 


37 


generally  either  absurd  or  immoral:  to  us  they  are  (in 
theory)  scarcely  more  than  household  words.  He  was,  in 
fact,  the  lirst  man  who  conceived  the  possibility  of  moral 
and  political  science,  and  of  logic.  In  that,  and  not  in 
the  creation  of  any  positive  system  of  philosophy,  his 
philosophical  greatness  consists.  If  Aristotle  is  “the  Mas¬ 
ter  of  those  who  know.”  assuredly  Socrates  is  their  father, 
and  “  the  author  of  their  being.”  His  theory  of  defini¬ 
tions  was  the  necessary  first  step  towards  the  existence 
of  any  scientific  thought.  Our  temptation  is  to  under¬ 
value  his  cross-examination.  In  reading  such  a  dialogue 
as  the  Euthyphron,  we  get  bored  and  irritated  by  his 
method  of  argument,  and  it  sometimes  almost  drives  us 
to  sympathize  with  the  wretched  sciolist.  Coleridge  talks 
of  “  a  man  who  would  pull  you  up  at  every  turn  for  a 
definition,  which  is  like  setting  up  perpetual  turnpikes 
along  the  road  to  truth.”  But  it  must  lx*  always  remem¬ 
bered,  first,  that  the  Soeratic  cross-examination  was  origi¬ 
nally  addressed  to  men  who  did  not  know  what  definition 
meant :  that  it  was  a  necessary  stage  in  the  development 
of  human  thought;  and  secondly,  that,  even  to  us,  it  is  of 
the  greatest  importance  to  make  sometimes  “a  return 
upon  ourselves,”  and  to  ask  ourselves  the  exact  meaning 
of  our  stock  of  thoughts  and  phrases. 


We  may  now  turn  to  our  dialogues,  the  Euthyphron , 
Apology,  Onto,  and  Phcedo,  which  describe  the  trial,  the 
imprisonment,  and  the  death  of  Socrates.  The  first  of 
them,  however,  the  Euthyphron ,  has  only  an  indirect  bear¬ 
ing  on  these  events.  Socrates  is  going  to  be  tried  for  im¬ 
piety,  and  before  the  trial  begins,  he  wishes  to  show  that 
the  current  commonplaces  about  piety  and  impiety  will 
not  bear  testing.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  porch  of  the 
King  Archon,  an  official  before  whom  indictments  for  im¬ 
piety  and  the  plea  of  th('  accused  were  laid  and  sworn  to, 
matters  of  religion  being  his  especial  care.  Here  Socrates 
and  Euthyphron  meet,  Socrates  having  just  been  indicted, 
and  Euthyphron  being  engaged  in  indicting  his  father 
for  the  murder  of  a  laboring  man.  Euthyphron  is  su¬ 
premely  contemptuous  of  his  friends  and  relatives,  who 


3S 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


I  say  that  he  is  acting  impiously.  On  the  contrary,  he  says, 
his  act  is  a  holy  and  pious  one.  To  do  otherwise  would  be 
impious*.  He  himself,  he  is  confident,  knows  all  about  re¬ 
ligion,  and  piety,  and  impiety:  he  has  made  them  his 
special  study.  Socrates  is  anxious  to  be  told  what  piety  is, 
that  he  n^ay  have  something  to  say  to  his  accusers.  Euthy- 
phron  answers  at  once  without  hesitation  “  Piety  is  acting 
as  I  am  acting  now.  It  means  punishing  the  evil-doer, 
even  though  he  be  your  own  father,  just  as  Zeus  is  said  to 
have  punished  his  father  Cronos  for  a  crime.”  Socrates  re¬ 
marks  that  he  cannot  bring  himself  to  believe  those  horrible 
stories  about  Zeus  and  the  other  gods,  and  he  points  out 
that  Euthyphron  has  not  answered  his  question.  He  does 
not  want  a  particular  example  of  piety.  He  wishes  to  know 
/  what  piety  itself  is,  what  that  is  which  makes  all  pious 
1  actions  pious.  Euthyphron  has  a  little  difficulty  at  first  in 
understanding  Socrates’  meaning.  Then  he  gives  as  his 
j  definition,  “Piety  is  that  which  is  pleasing  to  the  gods.” 

But  he  has  also  said  that  the  mythological  tales  about  the 
!  quarrels  of  the  gods  are  true :  and  Socrates  makes  him  ad- 
j  mit  that  if  the  gods  quarrel,  it  is  about  questions  of  right 
and  wrong  and  the  like,  and  that  some  of  them  will  think 
a  thing  right  which  others  of  them  will  think  wrong.  The 
same  thing  therefore  is  pleasing  to  the  gods  and  displeas¬ 
ing  to  the  gods,  and  Euthyphron’s  definition  will  not  stand. 
Euthyphron  then  changes  his  ground  and  says,  “  Piety  is 
that  which  is  pleasing  to  all  the  gods.”  Socrates  de¬ 
molishes  this  definition  by  pointing  out  that  what  is  pleas- 
i  ing  to  the  gods  “  is  of  a  sort  to  be  loved  by  them,  because 
I  they  love  it ;  ”  whereas  piety  “  is  loved  by  them,  because  it 
is  of  a  sort  to  be  loved.”  By  this  time  the  cross- 
examination  has  thoroughly  confused  Euthyphron,  and  he 
scarcely  understands  the  suggestion  that  piety  is  a  part  of 
justice.  After  a  good  deal  of  prompting  he  defines  piety  as 
“that  part  of  justice  which  has  to  do  with  the  care  or 
attention  which  we  owe  to  the  gods  (cf.  Xen.  Mem.  iv.  6. 
4,  “Piety  is  the  knowledge  of  what  is  due  to  the  gods”). 
Socrates  elicits  from  him  with  some  trouble  that  by  “  atten¬ 
tion  ”  he  means  “  service,”  and  then  drives  him  to  admit 


INTRODUCTION. 


39 


that  piety  is  “  a  science  of  prayer  and  sacrifice,”  or,  as  \ 
Socrates  puts  it,  “  an  art  of  traffic  between  gods  and  men.” 
We  give  the  gods  honor  and  homage,  in  short  what  is  ac¬ 
ceptable-  to  them.  Nothing,  thinks  Euthypliron,  is  dearer 
to  them  than  piety.  Indeed  piety  means  “  what  is  dear  to 
them :  ”  which  is  in  fact,  as  Socrates  points  out,  the  very  i 
definition  which  was  rejected  earlier  in  the  dialogue.  At 
this  point  Euthypliron,  who  has  passed  from  a  state  of 
patronizing  self-complacency  to  one  of,  first,  puzzled  con¬ 
fusion,  and,  then,  of  deeply  offended  pride,  finds  it  con¬ 
venient  to  remember  that  he  is  late  for  an  engagement  and 
must  be  off.  The  dialogue  ends  with  an  ironical  appeal  by 
Socrates  for  information  about  the  real  nature  of  piety. 

“  If  any  man  knows  what  it  is,  it  is  you.” 

The  Euthypliron  is  a  perfect  example  of  Socrates’  method 
of  cross-examination,  and  it  is  not  necessary  to  add  any¬ 
thing  to  what  has  already  been  said  on  that  subject.  We 
cannot  tell  whether  the  conversation  recorded  in  this  dia¬ 
logue  ever  actually  took  place.  Socrates’  dislike  of  the 
mythological  tales  about  the  crimes  of  the  gods  should  be 
noticed.  It  is,  he  says,  one  of  the  causes  of  liis  unpopular¬ 
ity.  Another  cause  is  that  he  has  the  reputation  of  being 
“a  man  who  makes  other  people  clever,”  i.e.  a  Sophist. 

It  must  also  be  noticed  that  the  real  question  which  he 
discusses  is  not  whether  Euthyphron’s  action  is  justifiable 
or  no,  but  whether  Euthypliron  can  justify  it. 

We  come  now  to  the  trial  and  the  defense  of  Socrates. 
He  was  indicted  in  399  b.c.  before  an  ordinary  Athenian 
criminal  tribunal  for  not  believing  in  the  gods  of  Athens 
and  for  corrupting  young  men.  We  must  clear  our  minds 
of  all  ideas  of  an  English  criminal  trial,  if  we  are  to  realize 
at  all  the  kind  of  court  before  which  he  was  tried.  It 
consisted  probably  of  501  dicasts  or  jurymen,  who  were 
a  very  animated  audience,  and  were  wont  to  express  openly 
their  approbation  or  disapprobation  of  the  arguments  ad¬ 
dressed  to  them.  Aristophanes  represents  them  in  one  of 
his  plays  as  shouting  at  an  unpopular  speaker  the  Greek 
equivalent  of  “  sit  down !  sit  down  !  ”  Socrates’  appeals 
for  a  quiet  hearing  are  addressed  to  them,  not  to  the  gen- 


40 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


eral  audience.  There  was  no  presiding  judge.  The  in¬ 
dictment  was  preferred  by  an  obscure  young  poet  named 
Meletus,  backed  up  by  Lyeon,  a  rhetorician  of  whom 
nothing  more  is  known,  and  by  Anytus,  the  real  mover  in 
the  matter.  He  was  a  leather  seller  by  trade  and  an  ardent 
mlitician,  whose  zeal  and  sufferings  in  the  cause  of  the 
mocracy,  at  the  time  of  the  oligarchy  of  the  Thirty,  had 
lined  him  much  reputation  and  influence  with  the  people. 
After  the  restoration  of  403  b.c.  he  was  a  man  of  great 
political  weight  in  Athens.  All  three  accusers  therefore 
belonged  to  classes  which  Socrates  had  offended  by  his 
unceasing  censure  of  men,  wha  could  give  no.  account  of 
the  principles  of  their  profession.  We  meet  with  Anytus 
again  in  the  Meno ,  in  which  dialogue  he  displays  an  intense 
hatred  and  scorn  for  the  Sophists.  “  I  trust  that  no  con¬ 
nection  or  relative  or  friend  of  mine,  whether  citizen  or 
foreigner,  will  ever  be  so  mad  as  to  allow  them  to  ruin 
him.”  And  he  finally  looses  his  temper  at  some  implied 
criticisms  of  Socrates  on  the  unsatisfactory  nature  of  the 
ordinary  Athenian  education,  which  did  not,  or  could 
not,  teach  virtue,  and  goes  away  with  an  an  ominous  threat. 

“  Socrates,  I  think  that  you  speak  evil  of  men  too  lightly. 

I  advise  you  to  be  careful.  In  any  city  it  is  probably 
easier  to  do  people  harm  than  to  do  them  good,  and  it  is 
certainly  so  in  Athens,  as  I  suppose  you  know  yourself.” 
The  next  time  that  we  hear  ofAnytus  is  as  one  of  Soc¬ 
rates’  accusers.  The  form  of  the  indictment  was  as 
follows :  “  Meletus  the  son  of  Meletus,  of  the  deme  Pitthis, 
on  his  oath  brings  the  following  accusation  against  Soc^ 
rates,  the  son  of  Sophroniscus,  of  the  deme  Alopece.  Soc-  / 
rates  commits  a  crime  by  not  believing  in  the  gods  of  the  j 
city,  and  by  introducing  other  newr  divinities.  He  also  J 
commits  a  crime  by  corrupting  the  youth.  Penalty,,' 
Death.”  Meletus,  in  fact,  merely  .formulates,  the  attack 
made  on  Socrates  by  Arisfopha  .  (Is.  The^ 

charge  of  atheism  and  of  worshiping  strange  gods  was- 
a  stock  accusation  against  the  Physical  Philosophers.  • 
The  charge  of  immorality,  of  corrupting  the  youth.  wa3 
a  stock  accusation  against  the  Sophists.  Meletus’  in- 


INTRODUCTION.  4i 

dictment  contains— no  -.specific  charge  against  Socrates 
as  an  individual. 

A  few  words  are  necessary  to  explain  the  procedure  at 
the  trial.  The  time  assigned  to  it  was  divided  into  three 
equal  lengths.  In  the  first  the  three  accusers  made  their 
speeches:  with  this  we  are  not  concerned.  The  second 
was  occupied  by  the  speeches  of  the  accused  (and  some¬ 
times  of  his  friends),  that  is,  by  the  first  twenty-four 
chapters  of  the  Apology.  Then  the  judges  voted  and 
found  their  verdict.  The  third  length  opened  with  the. 
speech  of  the  prosecutor  advocating  the  penalty  which 
he  proposed — in  this  c-ase,  death.  The  accused  was  at 
liberty  vo  propose  a  lighter  alternative  penalty,  and  he 
could  then  make  a  second  speech  in  support  of  his  pro¬ 
posal.  He  might  at  the  same  time  bring  forward  his 
wife  and  children,  and  so  appeal  to  the  pity  of  the 
Court.  To  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  belong  chapters 
xxv.-xxviii.  inclusive,  of  the  Apology.  Then  the  judges 
had  to  decide  between  the  two  penalties  submitted  to  them, 
of  which  they  had  to  choose  one.  If  they  voted  for  death, 
the  condemned  man  was  led  away  to  prison  by  the  officers 
of  the  Eleven:  With  chapter  xxviii,  the  trial  ends:  we 
cannot  be  certain  that  Socrates  w'as  ever  actually  allowed 
to  make  such  an  address  as  is  contained  in  the  closing 
chapters  of  the  Apology.  It  is  at  least  doubtful  whether, 
the  Athenians,  who  had  just  condemned  a  man  to  death/ 
that  they  might  no  longer  be  made  to  give  an  account  of  \ 
their  lives,  would  endure  to  hear  him  denouncing  judgment 
against  them  for  their  sins,  and  prophesying  the  punish-  j 
ment  which  awaited  them.  Finally,  we  must  remember 
that  at  certain  points  of  his  defense,  strictly  so  called, 
Socrates  must  be  supposed  to  call  witnesses. 

The  first  part  of  the  Apology  begins  with  a  short  in¬ 
troduction.  Then  Socrates  proceeds  to  divide  his  accusers 
into  two  sets.  First  there  are  those  who  have  been 
accusing  him  untruly  now  for  many  years,  among  them 
his  old  enemy  Aristophanes ;  then  there  are  Meletus  and 
his  companions.  He  will  answer  his  “  first  accusers  ” 
first.  They  have  accused  him  of  being  at  once  a  wicked 


42 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


sophist  and  a  natural  philosopher.  He  distinguishes  these 
cnaraeferiT  and  points  out  that  it  is  untrue  to  say  that  he 
is  either  one  or  the  other.  He  ig  unpopular  because  he 
has  taken  on  himself  the  duty  of  examining  men,  in 
consequence  of  a  certain  answer  given  by  the  Delphic 
oracle,  “that  he  was  the  wisest  of  men.”  He  describes 
the  examination  of  men  which  he  undertook  to  test  the 
truth  of  the  oracle,  which  has  gained  him  much  hatred: 
men  do  not  like  to  be  proved  ignorant  when  they  think 
themselves  wise.  They  call  him  a  sophist  and  every  kind 
of  bad  name  besides,  because  he  exposes  their  pretense  of 
knowledge.  Then  he  turns  to  his  present  accusers,  Mele- 
tus,  Anytus,  and  Lycon.  Meletus  is  cross-examined  and 
easily  made  to  contradict  himself :  he  is  an  infant  in 
Socrates’  hands,  who  treats  him  very  contemptuously, 
-'"answering  a  fool  according  to  his  folly.  But  some  one 
may  ask.  is  it  worth  while  to  risk  death  for  the  sake  of 
such  a  life  as  you  are  leading?  Socrates  replies  that 
he  did  not  desert  the  post  which  human  generals  assigned 
him;  shall  he  desert  the  post  at  which  God  has  set  him? 
He  will  not  do  that;  and  therefore  he  will  not  accept 
an  acquittal  conditional  on  abstaining  from  an  examina¬ 
tion  of  men.  The  Athenians  should  not  be  angry  with 
him;  rather  they  should  thank  God  for  sending  him  to 
them  to  rouse  them,  as  a  gadfly — to  use  a  quaint  simile — 
rouses  a  noble  but  sluggish  steed.  If  they  put  him  to 
death,  they  will  not  easily  find  a  successor  to  him.  His 
whole  life  is  devoted  to  their  service,  though  he  is  not  a 
public  man.  He  would  have  been  put  to  death  years 
ago  if  lie  had  engaged  in  politics,  for  there  is  much  in¬ 
justice  in  every  city,  which  he  would  oppose  by  every  means 
in  his  power.  His  actions,  when  the  ten  generals  were 
condemned,  and  under  the  oligarch}',  prove  that.  But 
as  a  private  man  he  has  striven  for  justice  all  his  life, 
and  his  conversation  has  been  open  before  all.  If  young 
men  have  been  corrupted  by  him,  why  do  they  not  come 
forward  to  accuse  him  when  they  are  grown  up?  Or 
if  thev  do  not  like  to  come  forward,  why  do  not  their 
relatives,  who  are  uncorrupted?  It  is  because  they  know 


INTRODUCTION. 


43 


very  well  that  he  be  speaking  the  truth,  and  that  Anytus 
is  a  liar. 

That  is  pretty  much  what  he  has  to  say.  He  will  not 
appeal  to  the  compassion  of  the  judges.  Such  conduct 
brings  disgrace  on  Athens;  and  besides,  the  judges  have 
sworn  to  decide  according  to  law,  and  to  appeal  to  their 
feelings  would  be  to  try  to  make  them  forswear  themselves : 
he  is  accused  of  impiety,  he  will  not  accuse  himself  of 
impiety  by  such  conduct.  With  these  words  he  commits 
his  cause  to  the  judges  and  to  God. 

At  this  point  the  judges  vote.  He  is  condemned  by 
281  to  %20.  Meletus’  speech  in  support  of  sentence  of 
death  follows,  and  then  Socrates’  speech  in  favor  of  his 
alternative  penalty.  He  has  expected  to  be  condemned, 
and  by  a  much  larger  majority.  What  shall  he  propose 
as  his  penalty?  What  does  he  deserve  for  his  life?  He 
is  a  public  benefactor ;  and  he  thinks  that  he  ought  to  have 
a  public  maintenance  in  the  Prytaneum,  like  an  Olym¬ 
pic  victory.  Seriously,  why  should  he  propose  a  penalty  ? 
He  is  sure  that  he  has  done  no  wrong.  He  does  not  know 
whether  death  is  a  good  or  an  evil.  Why  should  he  pro¬ 
pose  something  that  he  knows  to  be  an  evil  ?  Payment  of 
a  fine  would  be  no  evil,  but  then  he  has  no  money  to  pay 
a  fine  with ;  perhaps  he  can  make  up  one  mina :  that  is 
his  proposal.  Or,  as  his  friends  wish  it,  he  offers  thirty 
mins,  and  his  friends  will  be  sureties  for  payment. 

The  Athenians,  as  they  were  logically  bound  to  do, 
condemn  him  to  death.  They  have  voted  against  him, 
wishing  to  be  relieved  from  the  necessity  of  having  to  give 
an  account  of  their  lives,  and  after  their  verdict  he 
affirms  more  strongly  than  ever  that  he  will  not  cease 
from  examining  them.  With  the  sentence  of  death  the 
trial  ends;  but  in  the  Apology  Socrates  addresses  some 
last  words  to  those  who  have  condemned  him,  and  to  those 
who  have  acquitted  him.  The  former  he  sternly  rebukes 
for  their  crime,  and  foretells  the  evil  that  awaits  them  as 
the  consequence  of  it :  to  the  latter  he  wishes  to  talk  about 
what  has  befallen  him,  and  death.  They  must  be  of  good 
cheer.  No  harm  can  come  to  a  good  man  in  life  or  in 


u 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


death.  Death  is  either  an  eternal  and  dreamless  sleep, 
wherein  there  is  no  sensation  at  all ;  or  it  is  a  journey  to 
another  and  a  better  world,  where  are  the  famous  men  of 
old.  Whichever  alternative  be  true,  death  is  not  an  evil 
but  a  good.  His  own  death  is  willed  by  the  gods,  and  he 
is  content.  He  has  only  one  request  to  make,  that  his 
judges  will  trouble  his  sons,  as  he  has  troubled  his  judges, 
if  his  sons  set  riches  above  virtue,  and  think  themselves 
great  men  when  they  are  worthless.  “  But  now  the  time 
has  come  for  us  to  depart,  for  me  to  die  and  for  you  to 
live.  Whether  life  or  death  be  better  is  known  only  to 
God.”  So  ends  this  wonderful  dialogue. 

The  first  question  which  presents  itself  to  a  reader  of 
the  Apology  is,  How  far  does  it  coincide  with,  or  repre¬ 
sent  what  Socrates  actually  said  in  his  defense?  We  know 
from  Xenophon  that  lie  might  easily  have  obtained  a 
verdict,  if  he  would  have  consented  to  conciliate  his  judges 
with  prayers  and  flattery ;  and  also  that  the  divine  sign 
forbade  him  to  prepare  any  defense.  But  that  is  all  that 
we  know  of  his  defense,  apart  from  the  Apology,  and  if 
the  Apology  contains  any  of  the  actual  utterances  of 
Socrates,  we  have  no  means  of  determining  which  they 
are.  I  think  that  Mr.  Riddell  has  shown  beyond  any 
reasonable  doubt  (although  Zeller  speaks  of  the  opposite 
view  as  “well  established”)  that  the  structure  of  the 
defense  is  the  work  of  Plato.  He  points  out  (Introduc¬ 
tion,  p.  xx.)  that  whereas  Xenophon  declares  that  Socrates 
prepared  no  speech,  the  Apology  is  “artistic  to  the  core,” 
and  full  of  “subtle  rhetoric.”  Take,  for  example,  the 
argument  against  the  charges  of  the  first  accusers  (eh. 
ii.-x.)  Their  slanders  and  prejudices  are,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  merely  those  of  the  mass  of  Athenians,  including 
the  judges.  To  have  attacked  those  prejudices  openly 
would  have  been  merely  to  give  offense  to  the  judges.  The 
attack  on  them  is  therefore  masked.  It-  is  not  made  on 
“your  slanders  and  prejudices”  but  on  the  slanders  and 
prejudices  of  certain  individuals,  whose  very  names  Soc¬ 
rates  does  not  know  (“except  in  the  case  of  the  comic 
poets  ”)  who  have  been  accusing  him  falsely  for  many 


INTRODUCTION. 


45 


years,  very  persistently.  Further,  as  Mr.  Riddell  points 
out,  the  Apology  is  full  of  rhetorical  commonplaces.  “  The 
exordium  may  be  paralleled,  piece  by  piece,  from  the 
orators.”  And  the  whole  defense  is  most  artistically  ar¬ 
ranged,  with  the  answer  to  the  formal  indictment  in  the 
middle,  where  it  is  least  prominent,  being  the  least  im¬ 
portant  part  of  the  speech.  Apart  from  the  structure  of 
the  Apology,  the  style  and  language  is  clearly  Plato’s, 
whatever  may  he  said  about  the  substance  of  it. 

“  Notwithstanding,  we  can  seek  in  the  Apology  a  por¬ 
trait  of  Socrates  before  his  judges,  and  not  be  disappointed. 
Plato  has  not  laid  before  us  a  literal  narrative  of  the 
proceedings,  and  bidden  us  thence  form  the  conception  for 
ourselves;  rather  he  has  intended  us  to  form  it  through 
the  medium  of  his  art.  The  structure  is  his,  the  language 
in  his,  much  of  the  substance  may  be  his :  notwithstanding, 
quite  independently  of  the  literal  truth  of  the  means,  he 
guarantees  to  us  a  true  conception  of  the  scene  and  of 
the  man.  We  see  that  “  liberam  contumaciam  a  magni- 
tudine  animi  ductam  non  a  superbia”  (Cic.  Tusc.  i.  29), 
and  feel  that  it  must  be  true  to  Socrates,  although  with 
Cicero  himself  we  have  derived  the  conception  from  Plato’s 
ideal  and  not  from  history.  We  hear  Meletus  subjected  to 
a  questioning  which,  though  it  may  not  have  been  the 
literal  of  the  trial,  exibits  to  us  the  great  questioner  in 
his  own  element.  We  discover  repeated  instances  of  the 
irony,  which,  uniting  self-appreciation  with  a  true  and 
unflattering  estimate  of  others,  declines  to  urge  considera¬ 
tions  which  lie  beyond  the  intellectual  or  moral  ken  of  the 
judges.  Here  we  have  that  singularity  of  ways  a""1'11 
thoughts  which  was  half  his  offense  obtruding  itself  to  t 
very  last  in  contempt  of  consequences.  Here  we  have  a’ 
his  disapproval  of  the  existing  democracy  of  Athens  whi 
he  rather  parades  than  disguises.  And  lastly,  the  deep  re¬ 
ligiousness  which  overshadowed  all  his  character  breathes 
forth  in  the  account  he  renders  of  his  past  life,  in  his 
anticipations  of  the  future,  and  in  his  whole  present 
demeanor. 

“Thus  while  the  problem  of  the  relation  of  the  Apol- 


46 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


ogy  to  what  Socrates  actually  said  must  remain  unsolved, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  it  bodies  forth  a  lifelike  representa¬ 
tion;  a  representation  of  Socrates  as  Plato  wishes  us  to  con¬ 
ceive  of  him,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  as  true  to  nature  as 
the  art  of  Plato  could  render  it.  Plato,  we  know  was  pres¬ 
ent  at  the  trial :  he  knew  well  how  Socrates  had  defended 
himself:  he  doubtless  often  discussed  that  memorable  day 
with  Socrates  in  the  prison  :  and  he  had  an  intense  reverence 
for  his  great  master.  Of  course  he  could  not  give  a  ver¬ 
batim  report  of  a  speech  made  without  even  a  note:  there 
were  no  shorthand  writers  at  Athens.  But  he  knew  the 
substance  of  the  defense.  His  Apology  may  perhaps  be 
compared  to  the  speeches  in  Thucydides,  who  observes  that 
it  was  difficult  to  remember  the  exact  things  said  by, the 
speakers  on  each  occasion,  but  that  he  has  adhered  as 
closely  as  possible  to  the  general  sense  and  substance  of 
their  arguments. 

We  know  very  little  about  the  specific  charges  contained 
in  the  speeches  for  the  prosecution.  The  only  direct  refer¬ 
ence  to  them  in  the  Apology  is  in  Socrates’  passing  dis¬ 
claimer  of  any  responsibility  for  the  political  crimes  of 
men  like  Alcibiades  and  Critias.  Xenophon  tells  us 
that  “the  accuser”  charged  Socrates  with  bringing 
the  constitution  into  contempt  by  criticising  the  system 
of  election  to  political  office  by  lot :  with  teaching  children 
\  to  treat  their  fathers  with  contumely:  with  arguing  that 
people  should  love  and  respect  only  those  who  could  be 
useful  to  them :  with  being  responsible  for  the  crimes  of 
Alcibiades  and  Critias:  with  wrestling  bad  passages  from 
Homer  and  Hesiod  to  immortal  uses.  There  is  no  reason 
to  doubt  that  he  did  in  fact  criticise  election  to  office  by 
lot  adversely.  That  institution,  and  indeed  all  popular 
government,  was  obviously  incompatible  with  his  whole 
intellectual  position.  Hb  believed  that  government  is  an 
art,  and  the  most  important  of  all  arts,  and  that  as  such 
it  requires  7 novo  training,  knowledge,  and  skill  than  any 
other.  He  would  not  have  left  Hie  decision  of  political 
\  (juestions  to  chance,  or  to  the  vote  of  the  uneducated  major- 
>  ityr  The  other  charges  are  mere  stupid  and  malignant 


INTRODUCTION. 


47 


lies,  which  Socrates  passes  by  in  silence.  He  deals  with 
the  formal  indictment  lightly,  and  to  some  extent,  sophisti- 
cally.  The  broad  ground  taken  up  by  the  prosecution 
was  that  Socrates’  whole  way  of  life  and  teaching  is 
vicious,  immoral,  and  criminal.  That  was  the  real  charge 
which  he  had  to  meet.  The  avowed  purpose  of  his  unceas¬ 
ing  examination  was  to  expose  the  hollowness  of  received 
opinion  about  human  affairs:  and  to  understand  the 
animosity  which  such  an  avowal  aroused  in  Athens,  it  is 
necessary  to  remember  that  to  the  Greek  this  received 
opinion  represented  the  traditional  unwritten  law  of  the 
State.  And  the  State  meant  a  great  deal  more  to  a  Greek 
that  it  means  to  us.  It  is  not  a  mere  association  of  men 
for  the  protection  of  life  and  property.  It  was  a  sacred 
thing,  to  be  loved  and  revered.  It  had  the  authority  of  a 
church.  If  we  bear  that  in  mind  we  shall  comprehend  bet¬ 
ter  the  bitterness  called  forth  by  Socrates’  attack  on  re¬ 
ceived  opinions,  and  the  strength  of  the  position  taken  up 
by  his  accusers  in  their  prosecution.  He  concentrates  the 
entire  force  and  emphasis  of  his  argument  to  meet  them 
on  that  ground.  His  defense  is  a  review  and  justifica¬ 
tion  of  his  life  and  “  philosophy.”  It  is  not  an  apol¬ 
ogy.  Socrates  utters  no  single  syllable  of  regret  for 
the  unceasing  cross-examination  of  men,  which  was  alleged 
against  him  as  a  crime.  Neither  is  it  accurate  to  say  that 
he  “  defies  ”  the  Athenians.  He  speaks  of  them  individ¬ 
ually  and  as  a  people  in  terms  of  strong  affection.  He 
loved  his  fellow-countrymen  intensely.  He  has  no  quarrel 
with  them  at  all.  He  is  unfeignedly  sorry  for  their  mis¬ 
takes  and  their  faults,  and  he  does  what  he  can  to  correct 
them  by  pointing  out  why  they  are  wrong.  He  does  not 
defy  them.  What  he  does  is  firmly  and  absolutely  to  de¬ 
cline  to  obey  them,  be  the  consequences  what  they  may. 

The  Apology  brings  out  one  point  about  Socrates  very 
strongly  which  must  be  noticed,  namely  “  the  deep  re-^1  • 
ligiousness  which  overshadowed  all  his  character.”  To* 
him  religion  meant  something  very  different  from  the 
polytheistic  and  mythological  system  which  was  current 
among  his  countrymen,  We  have  seen  in  the  Eulhij phron 


48 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


how  strongly  he  condemned  the  horrible  and  immoral  tales 
about  the  gods  which  were  contained  in  Greek  mythology, 
and  how  he  fears  that  his  condemnation  of  them  makes 
him  unpopular.  He  was  far  too  earnestly  and  really  re¬ 
ligious  a  man  not  to  be  indignant  at  such  stories,  or  to 
accept  as  satisfactory  the  popular  State  religion.  He  deals 
rather  carelessly  with  the. count  in  the  indictment  charging 
him  with  disbelief  in  the  gods  of  Athens.  He  nowhere 
commits  himself  to  a  recognition  of  them,  though  he  em¬ 
phatically  denies  that  he  is  an  atheist.  “Athenians,”  he 
says  in  the  last  words  of  his  defense,  “  I  do  believe  in  the 
gods  as  no  one  of  my  accusers  believes  in  them:  and  to 
you  and  to  God  I  commit  my  cause  to  be  decided  as  is  best 
for  you  and  for  me.”  His  God  was  the  God  of  Plato,  who 
is  good,  and  the  cause  of  all  good  and  never  the  cause 
of  evil :  He  “  is  one  and  true  in  word  and  deed:  He  neither 
changes  Himself,  nor  deceives  others:”  the  unknown  God, 
at  whose  altar  the  Athenians  some  four  centuries  later 
ignorantly  worshiped:  “the  power  in  darkness  whom  we 
guess.”  “  God  alone,”  says  Socrates,  “  is  wise  and  knows 
all  things.”  He  protects  good  men  from  evil.  He  de¬ 
clares  His  will  to  men  by  dreams  and  oracles,  and  the 
priestess  at  Delphi  is  His  mouthpiece.  His  law  and  His 
commands  are  supreme  and  must  be  obeyed  at  all  costs. 
We  have  already  seen  how  Socrates  looked  on  his  search 
for  wisdom  as  a  duty  laid  upon  him  by  God.  He  contin¬ 
ually  speaks  of  it  as  “  the  service  of  God,”  which  must  be 
performed  at  all  hazards,  and  from  which  no  danger,  and 
no  threats  could  lie  allowed  to  turn  him  back.  He  will 
not  hold  his  peace,  even  to  save  his  life.  “  Athenians, 
I  hold  you  in  the  highest  regard  and  love,  but  I  will  obey 
God  rather  than  you” — words  strikingly  parallel  to  St. 
Peter’s  words  “  we  ought  to  obey  God  rather  than  men  ” 
( Acts  v.  20).  And  in  the  service  of  God  he  died. 

There  is  one  very  obscure  question  relating  to  Socrates’ 
v  religious  opinions.  He  believed  that  he  had  certain  spe- 
'  cial  and  peculiar  communications  from  God  through  his 
“divine  sign.”  In  the  Apology  he  explains  it  to  be  a 
voice  from  God  which  had  been  with  him  continually  from 


INTRODUCTION. 


49 


childhood  upwards,  which  frequently  warned  him  even 
in  quite  small  matters,  and  which  was  always  negative, 
restraining  him  from  some  action.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
what  this  “  divine  sign  ”  was.  It  is  clear  enough  that  it 
was  not  conscious,  for  it  dealt  not  with  the  morality, 
but  with  the  expediency  of  actions.  In  this  dialogue  it 
does  not  forbid  him  to  desert  his  post  and  neglect  the  duty 
of  examining  men  which  God  had  laid  upon  him.  He  will 
not  do  that  because  he  will  not  disobey  God.  The  divine 
sign  forbids  him  to  enter  on  public  life,  because  it  would 
be  inexpedient  to  do  so.  Besides,  conscience  is  positive 
as  well  as  negative,  and  Socrates  could  hardly  claim  a 
monopoly  of  it.  M.  Lelut,  in  a  book  called  Du  Demon  de 
Socrate  (1836),  argues  “  que  Socrate  etait  un  fou,”  and 
classes  him  with  Luther,  Pascal.  Rousseau,  and  others. 
He  thinks  that  Socrates  in  his  hallucinations  really  be¬ 
lieved  that  he  heard  a  voice.  Zeller  says  that  the  divine 
sign  is  “the  general  form  which  a  vivid,  but  in  its  origin 
unexplained,  sense  of  the  propriety  of  a  particular  action 
assumed  for  the  personal  consciousness  of  Socrates/’  “  the 
inner  voice  of  individual  tact,”  cultivated  to  a  pitch  of 
extraordinary  accuracy.  Mr.  Riddell,  in  an  appendix  of 
great  interest,  collects  all  the  passages  from  Xenophon 
and  Plato,  and  points  out  that  the  two  accounts  are  contra¬ 
dictory.  Taking  Xenophon’s  account  he  believes  “that 
it  was  a  quiek  exercise  of  a  judgment,  informed  by  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  subject,  trained  by  experience,  and  inferring 
from  cause  to:  effect  without  consciousness  of  the  process. 
If  we  take  Plato’s  account  he  thinks  explanation  impos¬ 
sible:  we'  cannot  go  beyond  what  Socrates  says.  Hr. 
Thompson  (Master  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge),  after 
pointing  out  that  it  is  a  sign  or  voice  from  the  gods,  and 
not,  as  has  been  sometimes  said,  a  genius  or  attendant 
spirit,  seems  to  accept  Schleiermacher’s  opinion  as  most 
probable,  that  it  “  denotes  the  province  of  such  rapid  moral 
judgments  as  cannot  be  referred  to  distinct  grounds,  which 
accordingly  Socrates  did  not  attribute  to  his  proper  self: 
for  instance,  presentiment  of  the  issue  of  an  undertaking: 
attraction  or  repulsion  in  reference  to  particular  indi- 
4 


50 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


viduals.”  Fortunately  the  question  is  curious  rather 
than  important,  for  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  there  is 
evidence  enough  to  settle  it. 

At  the  close  of  the  Apology  Socrates  is  about  to  be  led 
away  to  prison.  His  death  was  delayed  by  a  certain 
mission  which  the  Athenians  annually  sent  to  Apollo  at 
Delos:  for  while  the  mission  was  away  no  one  could  be  put 
to  death  in  Athens.  Socrates  therefore  had  to  spend  a 
long  time  ironed  in  the  prison,  in  which  the  scene  of  the 
Crito  is  laid.  It  is  early  morning,  and  Socrates  is  still 
asleep.  Crito  has  come  before  the  usual  time,  the  bearer 
of  news  which  is  more  bitter  to  him  than  to  Socrates,  that 
the  ship  of  the  mission  is  at  Sunium  and  will  soon  reach 
the  Peirseus;  on  the  following  day  Socrates  will  have  to 
die.  For  the  last  time  Crito  implores  him  to  escape  and 
save  himself.  It  will  be  quite  easy  and  will  not  cost  his 
friends  much;  and  there  are  many  places  for  him  to  go 
to.  If  he  stays,  he  will  be  doing  the  work  of  his  foes;  he 
will  be  deserting  his  children,  and  covering  himself  with 
ridicule  and  his  friends  with  disgrace.  “  Think  what  men 
will  say  of  us.” 

Socrates  replies  that  he  has  been  guided  by  reason,  and 
has  disregarded  the  opinion  of  men  all  his  life.  It  matters 
not  what  the  world  will  say,  but  what  the  one  man  who 
knows  what  Right  is  wall  say,  and  what  Truth  herself  will 
think  of  us.  The  question  is,  Shall  I  be  doing  right  in 
escaping,  and  will  you  be  doing  right  in  aiding  my  escape? 
Crito  agrees  to  that,  and  to  the  first  principle  which  Soc¬ 
rates  lays  down  as  a  starting-point : — if  any  one  wrrong  us, 
we  may  not  wrong  him  in  return.  We  have  no  right  to 
repay  evil  with  evil,  though  few  men  think  so  or  ever  will 
think  so.  Such  a  sentiment  must  indeed  have  sounded 
strange  to  Socrates’  contemporaries;  Greek  morality  was, 
do  good  to  your  friends,  and  harm  your  enemies,  a  propo- 
.  sition  which  Xenophon  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Socrates 
'  himself. 

Socrates  then  starts  from  the  principle,  that  it  is  wrong 
J  to  return  evil  for  evil.  Apply  that  to  his  case:  he  will  be 
^  wronging  the  state  if  he  escapes  from  prison  and  from 


INTRODUCTION. 


51 


death  against  the  will  of  the  Athenians;  by  so  doing,  he 
will  be  doing  all  he  can  to  destroy  the  state  of  which  he 
is  a  citizen..  A  city  in  which  private  individuals  set  aside 
at  their  will  the  judicial  decisions  and  laws  of  the  state, 
cannot  continue  to  exist:  it  must  be  destroyed.  It.  may 
lie  that  an  individual  is  condemned  unjustly:  then  the 
laws  are  either  bad,  or,  as  he  says  at  the  end  of  the  dia¬ 
logue,  badly  administered.  Still,  the  individual  may  not 
take  the  matter  into  his  own  hands.  The  members  of  all 
bodies  of  men,  and  therefore  of  the  state,  must  sacrifice 
their  individual  wills,  more  or  less,  to  the  whole  to  which 
they  belong.  They  must  obey  the  rules  or  laws  of  the 
whole,  or  it  will  perish.  Even  in  bodies  of  bad  men  there 
must  be,  and  is,  a  certain  harmony  and  unanimity.  The 
Crito  represents  Socrates  as  the  good  citizen,  who  has  been 
condemned  unjustly  “  not  by  the  laws  but  by  men,”  but 
who  will  not  retaliate  on  the  state  and  destroy  it:  he  will 
submit  to  death.  Were  he  to  escape,  the  laws  would  come 
and  ask  him  why  he  was  trying  to  destroy  them,  and  if  he 
replied  that  they  had  wronged  him,  they  would  retort  that 
he  had  agreed  to  be  bound  by  all  the  judicial  decisions  of 
the  state.  He  owes  everything  to  them — his  birth,  his 
bringing  up,  his  education ;  he  is  their  offspring  and  slave, 
and  bound  to  do  whatever  they  bid  him  without  an  answer. 
He  has  agreed  to  that;  and  his  consent  to  the  agreement 
was  not  got  from  him  by  force  or  fraud :  he  has  had  seventy 
years  to  consider  it ;  for  they  permit  any  man  who  chooses, 
to  leave  the  city  and  go  elsewhere.  Socrates  has  not  only 
not  done  that,  he  has  remained  within  the  walls  more 
than  any  Athenian,  so  contented  was  he.  He  might  have 
proposed  exile  as  the  penalty  at  his  trial,  and  it  would  have 
been  accepted,  but  he  expressly  refused  to  do  so.  And  if 
he  runs  away,  where  will  he  go  to?  Orderly  men  and 
cities  will  look  askance  at  him  as  a  lawless  person :  life  will 
not  be  worth  living  in  disorderly  states  like  Thessaly; 
what  could  he  do  there?  He  would  scarcely  have  the  face 
to  converse  about  virtue.  Will  he  go  away  to  Thessaly  for 
dinner?  And  will  he  take  his  children  with  him,  and 
make  them  strangers  to  their  own  country?  Or  will  he 


52 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


leave  them  in  Athens?  What  good  will  he  do  them  then? 
His  friends,  if  they  are  real  friends,  will  take  as  much  care 
of  them  if  he  goes  to  the  other  world,  as  if  he  goes  to 
Thessaly.  Let  him  stay  and  die,  and  he  will  go  away  an 
injured  man,  and  the  laws  of  Hades  will  receive  him 
kindly.  Such  are  the  arguments  he  hears  murmured  in 
his  ears.  Crito  admits  that  he  cannot  answer  them. 

We  have  no  means  of  saying  whether  the  incident  of 
this  dialogue  ever  occurred.  Plato  was  quite  capable  of 
inventing  it.  Doubtless  however  Socrates’  friends  would 
have  liked  to  save  his  life,  and  nothing  is  more  likely  than 
that  they  proposed  escape  to  him.  Crito  is  met  with  again 
in  the  Phredo.  He  is  an  old  and  intimate  friend,  who  asks 
for  Socrates’  last  commands,  and  is  with  him  at  his  last 
parting  from  his  family,  and  closes  his  gyes  after  death. 

He  is  not  good  at  argument;  and  it  is  worth  noticing 
that,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  Crito,  the  dialogue  almost 
becomes  a  monologue:  the  reasoning  in  the  Pluedo  makes 
but  little  impression  on  him. 

In  the  Phredo  the  storv  of  Socrates’  death  is  related  at 
Phlius  to  Echecrates  and  other  Phliasians  by  Phasdo,  who 
had  been  with  his  master  to  the  end.  It  is  a  dialogue 
within  a  dialogue,  the  scene  of  the  first  being  Phlius,  and 
of  the  second  the  prison,  a  day  or  two  after  the  incident 
narrated  in  the  Crito.  Phaedo  first  explains  how  the  mis¬ 
sion  to  Apollo  delayed  Socrates’  death  for  so  long:  he  tells 
who  were  present,  how  they  heard  the  night  before  of 
the  arrival  of  the  ship  from  Delos,  and  how  they  arranged 
to  go  to  Socrates  the  next  morning  very  early.  Then  we 
are  taken  into  the  prison,  where  Socrates  has  just  been 
released  from  his  fetters,  and  Xanthippe,  who  is  soon  sent  f 
away  wailing,  is  sitting  by  him.  Socrates  remarks  on  the 
close  connection  of  pleasure  and  pain,  and  then  the  con¬ 
versation  turns  upon  suicide,  which  Socrates  says  is  wrong, 
though  the  philosopher  will  always  long  to  die.  Such 
a  man,  when  he  is  dead,  will  be  cared  for  by  good  gods, 
he  will  be  with  better  companions  than  on  earth,  and  he 
will  be  released  from  the  body,  which  is  a  perpetual  hin¬ 
drance  to  the  soul  in  her  pursuit  of  truth.  Philosophy  ia 


INTRODUCTION. 


53 


a  study  of  death;  the  philosopher  longs  to  be  emancipated 
from  the  bondage  of  the  body,  for  he  desires  knowledge, 
which  is  attainable  only  after  death.  Those  who  fear 
death  do  not  love  wisdom,  but  their  bodies,  or  wealth,  or 
honor.  And  their  virtue  is  a  strange  thing.  They  are 
brave  from  a  fear  of  greater  evils,  and  temperate  because 
intemperance  prevents  them  from  enjoying  certain  pleas¬ 
ures.  Such  virtue  is  utterly  false,  and  unsound,  and  sla¬ 
vish.  True  virtue  is  a  purification  of  the  soul,  and  those 
who  have  purified  their  souls  will  be  with  the  gods  after 
death.  Therefore  Socrates  is  ready  to  die. 

Cebes  fears  that  when  a  man  dies  his  soul  vanishes  away 
like  smoke.  Socrates  proceeds  to  discuss  the  immortality 
of  the  soul.  In  the  first  place,  by  a  confusion  of  sequence 
and  effect,  he  argues  that  opposites  are  generated  from  op¬ 
posites:  and  therefore  life  from  death.  If  it  were  not  so, 
if  death  were  generated  from  life,  and  not  life  from  death, 
everything  would  at  length  be  dead.  He  next  makes  use  of 
the  Platonic  doctrine  of  Reminiscence.  All  our  knowledge 
is  a  remembrance  of  what  we  have  known  at  some  previous 
time,  and  that  can  only  have  been  before  we  were.  bom. 
Our  souls  therefore  must  have  existed  before  they  entered 
our  bodies.  Simmias  admits  that,  but  wants  a  further 
proof  that  they  will  continue  to  exist  when  we  are  dead. 
Socrates  has  no  objection  to  go  on  with  the  discussion, 
though  the  further  proof  is  needless.  Which,  he  asks, 
is  most  liable  to  dissolution,  the  simple  and  unchanging, 
or  the  compound  and  changing?  that  which  is  akin  to  the 
divine,  or  that  which  is  akin  to  the  mortal?  ( Clearly  the 
former  in  both  instances;  in  other  words  the  soul  is  less 
subject  to  dissolution  than  the  body.  But  the  body,  if  it  be 
properly  embalmed,  may  be  preserved  for  ages,  and  parts 
of  it,  as  the  bones,  are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  immortal 
Can  it  be  said  then  that  the  soul  vanishes  away  at  death  ? 
Far  from  it:  the  pure  soul  goes  hence  to  a  place  that  is 
glorious,  and  pure,  and  invisible,  and  lives  with  the  gods, 
while  the  soul  that  is  impure  flutters  about  tombs,  weighed 
down  by  her  earthly  element,  until  she  is  again  imprisoned 
in  the  body  of  some  animal  with  habits  congenial  to  the 


54 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


habits  of  her  previous  life..  The  sensual  soul  for  instance 
goes  into  the  body  of  an  ass;  the  unjust  or  tyrannical  soul 
into  the  body  of  a  wolf  or  a  kite:  such  souls  as  have  been 
just  and  temperate,  though  without  philosophy  or  intelli¬ 
gence,  go  into  the  bodies  of  some  gentle  creature,  the  bee. 
or  the  wasp,  or,  it  may  be,  of  moderate  men.  Only  the 
souls  of  philosophers  go  and  live  with  the  gods.  That  is 
why  philosophers  abstain  from  bodily  pleasures. 

Simmias  and  Cebes  are  still  unconvinced,  and  with  a 
little  pressure  are  induced  to  state  their  difficulties.  Sim¬ 
mias  believes  the  soul  to  be  a  harmony  of  the  elements  of 
the  body,  and  that  she  is  to  the  body,  as  a  musical  harmony 
is  to  a  lyre.  But  a  musical  harmony,  though  diviner  than 
the  lyre,  does  not  survive  it.  Cebes  grants  the  soul  to  be 
much  more  enduring  than  the  body,  but  he  cannot  see  that 
the  soul  has  been  proved  to  be  immortal. 

At  this  point  there  is  a  break  in  the  argument.  The 
listeners  nearly  despair  on  hearing  these  objections.  Then 
Socrates  proceeds,  first  warning  them  against  coming  to 
hate  reasoning,  because  it  has  sometimes  deceived  them. 
The  fault  is  not  in  reasoning,  but  in  themselves.  And  he 
begs  them  to  be  careful  that  he  does  not  mislead  them  in  his 
eagerness  to  prove  the  soul  immortal.  He  is  an  interested 
party. 

He  answers  Simmias  first.  Does  Simmias  still  believe  in 
the  doctrine  of  Reminiscence?  He  does.  Then  the  soul 
is  not  a  harmony  of  the  elements  of  the  body :  if  she  were, 
she  would  have  existed  before  the  elements  which  com¬ 
pose  her.  And  the  soul  leads,  and  is  never  more  or  less  a 
soul.  In  those  things  she  differs  from  a  harmony,  and  so 
Simmias’  objection  fails.  Cebes’  point  is  more  important. 
To  answer  him  involves  an  investigation  of  the  whole  ques¬ 
tion  of  generation  and  decay;  but  Socrateses  willing  to 
narrate  his  own  experiences  on  the  subject.  In  his  youth 
he  had  a  passion  for  Natural  Philosophy:  he  thought  about 
it  till  he  was  completely  puzzled.  He  could  not  under¬ 
stand  the  mechanical  and  physical  causes  of  the  philoso¬ 
phers.  He  hoped  great  things  from  Anaxagoras,  who,  he 
was  told,  said  that  Mind  was  the  Universal  Cause,  and  who, 


INTRODUCTION. 


55 


he  expected,  would  show  that  everything  was  ordered  in 
the  best  way.  He  was  grievously  disappointed.  Anax¬ 
agoras  made  no  use  of  mind  at  all,  but  introduced  air,  and 
ether,  and  a  number  of  strange  things  as  causes.  In  his 
disappointment  he  turned  to  investigate  the  question  of 
causation  for  himself.  All  his  hearers  will  admit  the  exist¬ 
ence  of  absolute  Ideas.  He  made  up  his  mind  that  Ideas 
are  the  causes  of  phenomena,  beauty  of  beautiful  things, 
greatness  of  great  things,  and  so  on.  Echecrates  interposes 
the  remark  that  any  man  of  sense  will  agree  to  that.  Soc¬ 
rates  goes  on  to  show  that  opposite  Ideas  cannot  coexist  in 
the  same  person :  if  it  is  said  that  Simmias  is  both  tall  and 
short,  because  he  is  taller  than  Socrates  and  shorter  than 
Bhaedo,  that  is  true ;  but  he  is  only  tall  and  short  relatively. 
(An  Idea  must  always  perish  or  retreat  before  its  opposite? 
^Further  than  that,  an  Idea  will  not  only  not  admit  its  op¬ 
posite  ;  it  will  not  admit  that  which  is  inseparable  from  its 
opposite.  The  opposite  of  cold  is  heat;  and  just  as  cold 
will  not  admit  heat,  so  it  will  not  admit  fire,  which  is  in¬ 
separable  from  heat.  Cold  and  fire  cannot  coexist  in  the 
same  object.  So  life  is  the  opposite  of  death,  and  life  is 
inseparable  from  the  soul.  CjCherefore  the  soul  will  not  ad¬ 
mit  death)  She  is  immortal,  and  therefore  indestructible : 
and  when  a  man  dies  his  soul  goes  away  safe  and  un¬ 
harmed.  Simmias  admits  that  he  has  nothing  to  urge 
against  Socrates’  reasoning  though  he  cannot  say  that  he 
is  quite  satisfied.  Human  reason  is  weak  and  the  subject 
vast. 

But  if  the  soul  lives  on  after  death,  how  terrible  must  be 
the  danger  of  neglecting  her!  For  she  takes  to  Hades 
nothing  but  her  nurture  and  education,  and  these  make  a 
great  diffccqnop  to  her  at  the  very  beginning  of  her  journey 
thither.  (^Socrates  then  describes  the  soul’s  journey  to  the 
other  world,  and  her  life  there :  a  remark  that  the  earth  is 
a  wonderful  place,  not  at  all  like  what  it  is  commonly 
thought  to  be,  leads  to  the  description  of  the  earth  in  the 
famous  Myth  of  the  Phcedo,  which  Plato,  with  consummate 
art,  interposes  between  the  hard  metaphysical  argument 
of  the  dialogue,  and  the  account  of  Socrates’  death.  Soc- 


5t> 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


rates  describes  the  earth,  its  shape,  and  character,  and  in¬ 
habitants,  and  beauty.  We  men,  who  think  we  live  on  its 
surface,  really  live  down  in  a  hollow.  Other  men  live  on 
the  surface,  which  is  much  fairer  than  our  world.  Then 
he  goes  on  to  describe!  Tartarus  and  its  rivers,  of  which  the 
chief  are  Oceanus,  Acheron,  Pvriphlegethon,  and  Cocytus. 
He  proceeds  to  speak  of  the  judgment  and  rewards  and 
punishments  of  the  souls  after  death :  a  man  who  has  de¬ 
voted  himself  to  his  soul  and  not  to  his  body  need  not 
be  afraid  of  death,  which  is  a  complete  release  from  the 
body,  for  for  him  there  is  a  place  prepared  of  wonderful 
beauty.  Socrates  has  not  time  to  speak  of  it  now.  It  is 
getting  late,  and  he  must  bathe  and  prepare  for  death. 

Crito  asks  for  Socrates’  last  commands.  The  argument 
has  made  no  impression  on  him;  he  does  not  understand 
that  Socrates  is  going  away,  and  wishes  to  know  how  to 
bury  him.  Socrates  leaves  that  to  his  friends,  “  only  you 
must  catch  me  first.”  Then  he  goes  away  with  Crito  to 
bathe,  and  takes  leave  of  his  family :  there  is  but  little  con¬ 
versation  after  that.  The  poison  is  brought,  and  Socrates 
drinks  it  calmly,  without  changing  color,  rebuking  his 
friends  for  their  noisy  grief.  A  few  moments  before  he 
dies  he  remembers  that  he  owes  a  cock  to  Asclepius.  Crito 
must  pay  it  for  him.  Then  there  was  a  convulsive  move¬ 
ment,  and  he  was  dead. 

The  Phcedo  is  not  a  dialogue  of  which  much  need  be  said. 
The  perfect  beauty  of  Plato’s  description  of  his  great  mas¬ 
ter’s  death  at  the  hands  of  the  law,  which  is  singular  for 
the  complete  absence  of  anything  violent  or  repulsive  from 
it,  is  best  left  to  speak  for  itself;  and  the  greater  part  of 
the  dialogue  is  occupied  with  Platonic  metaphysics,  wdth 
wrhich  we  are  not  concerned.  For  the  Phcedo  may  be  di¬ 
vided  into  two  parts,  the  historical,  and  the  philosophical. 
Plato  was  not  present  at  Socrates’  death ;  but  there  is  no 
reason  for  doubting  that  his  account  of  it  is  substantially 
correct.  He  must  'have  often  heard  the  story  of  that  last 
day  from  eye-witnesses.  The  philosophy  of  the  Plioedo 
is  another  matter.  There  is  no  doubt  that  that  is  not  So- 
cratic,  but  Platonic.  It  is  likely  enough  that  the  last  day 


INTRODUCTION. 


of  Socrates’  life,  even  to  the  setting  of  the  sun,  when  he  was 
to  die,  was  spent  with  his  friends  in  the  accustomed  ex¬ 
amination  of  himself  and  them,  and  in  the  searcn  after 
hard  intellectual  truth  to  which  his  whole  life  had  been  de¬ 
voted;  and  it  may  well  be  that  his  demeanor  was,  in  fact, 
more  serious  and  earnest  than  usual  on  that  day,  as 
if,  in  spite  of  all  his  confident  belief  in  a  future  life,  death 
had  cast  the  solemnity  of  its  shadow  upon  him.  But  it  is 
quite  certain  that  the  metaphysical  arguments  of  the 
Phcedo  were  not  those  used  by  Socrates,  in  his  prison,  or  at 
any  other  time.  That  can  be  very  shortly  proved.  In  the 
Phcedo,  Socrates  is  represented  as  a  keen  and  practised 
metaphysician,  who  has  definite  theories  about  the  origin 
of  knowledge,  and  the  causes  of  Being.  He  “  is  fond  of 
stating  ”  the  doctrine  that  knowledge  is  an  imperfect  recol¬ 
lection  of.  what  we  have  known  in  a  previous  state  of  exist¬ 
ence:  and  he  is  quite  familiar  with  the  doctrine  of  ideas. 
But  the  real  Socrates,  the  Socrates  of  the  Apology  and 
the  admittedly  Socratic  dialogues,  and  of  Xenophon,  con¬ 
fined  himself  strictly  to  questions  affecting  men  and  so¬ 
ciety.  (All  that  he  knew  was  that  he  was  ignorant.  )His 
greatness  as  a  thinker  does  not  consist  in  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  author  or  the  teacher  of  any  system  of  positive 
philosophy,  metaphysical  or  other;  but  in  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  first  man  who  conceived  the  very  idea  of  scientific 
knowledge,  and  of  the  method  of  arriving  at  it.  And  it 
must  be  remembered  that  the  Apology,  which  contains 
Plato’s  account  of  Socrates,  as  he  actually  conceived  him  to 
be,  represents  a  speech  delivered  only  thirty  days  before  the 
conversation  reported  in  the  Phcedo .  Once  more;  in  the 
Phcedo  the  immortality  of  the  soul  is  ultimately  proved  by 
the  doctrine  of  Ideas.  Now  Aristotle,  whose  evidence  is 
the  best  that  we  can  have  on  such  a  point,  expressly  tells 
us  that  the  doctrine  of  Ideas  was  never  known  to  Socrates 
at  all ;  but  that  it  was  a  distinct  advance  on  his  theory  of 
definitions  made  by  Plato.  Plato,  in  fact,  has  done  in  the 
Phcedo  what  he  so  often  did;  he  has  employed  Socrates  as 
the  chief  character  in  a  dialogue,  and  then  put  into  Soc¬ 
rates’  mouth  opinions  and  arguments  which  the  Socrates  of 


58 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


history  never  dreamt  of.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the 
conversation  therefore  recorded  in  the  Plioedo  never  took 
place.  There  is  no  record  whatsoever  of  the  actual  conver¬ 
sation  of  that  last  day. 

Such  a  man  was  Socrates,  in  his  life  and  in  his  death. 
He  was  just  and  feared  not.  He  might  easily  have  saved 
himself  from  death,  if  only  he  would  have  consented  to 
cease  from  forcing  his  countrymen  to  give  an  account  of 
their  lives.  But  he  believed  that  God  had  sent  him  to  be 
a  preacher  of  righteousness  to  the  Athenians;  and  he  re¬ 
fused  to  be  silent  on  any  terms.  “  I  cannot  hold  my 
peace,”  he  says,  “  for  that  would  be  to  disobey  God.” 
Tennyson’s  famous  lines  have  been  often  and  well  applied 
to  him : — 

“  Self-reverence,  self-knowledge,  self-control, 

These  three  alone  lead  life  to  sovereign  power, 

Yet  not  for  power  (power  of  herself 
Would  come  uncall’d  for)  but  to  live  by  law, 

Acting  the  law  we  live  by  without  fear  ; 

And,  because  right  is  right,  to  follow  right 
Were  wisdom  in  the  scorn  of  consequence.” 

They  illustrate  his  faith,  “his  burning  faith  in  God  and 
Bight.”  Knowing  nothing  certainly  of  what  comes  after 
death,  and  having  no  sure  hope  of  a  reward  in  the  next 
world,  he  resolutely  chose  to  die  sooner  than  desert  the 
post  at  which  God  had  placed  him,  or  do  what  he  believed 
to  be  wroDg. 


EUTHYPHEOIST. 


CHARACTERS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 


Socrates. 

Etthyphron. 

Scene. — The  porch  of  the  King  Archon. 


EUTHYPHRON. 


Euth.  What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here  at  the 
arehon’s  porch,  Socrates  ?  Why  have  you  left  your  haunts 
in  the  Lyceum  ?  You  surely  cannot  have  an  action  before 
him,  as  I  have. 

Socr.  Nay,  the  Athenians,  Euthyphron,  call  it  a  prose¬ 
cution,  not  an  action. 

Euth.  What?  Do  you  mean  that  some  one  is  prose¬ 
cuting  you  ?  I  cannot  believe  that  you  are  prosecuting  any 
one  yourself. 

Socr.  Certainly  I  am  not. 

Euth.  Then  is'some  one  prosecuting  you? 

Socr.  Yes. 

Euth.  Who  is  he? 

v  Socr.  I  scarcely  know  him  myself,  Euthyphron ;  I  think 
he  must  be  some  unknown  young  man.  His  name,  how¬ 
ever,  is  Meletus,  and  his  deme  Pitthis,  if  you  can  call  to 
mind  any  Meletus  of  that  deme, — a  hook-nosed  man  with 
long  hair,  and  rather  a  scanty  beard. 

Euth.  I  don’t  know  him,  Socrates.  But,  tell  me,  what  is 
rosecuting  you  for? 


’ ~Socr .  What  for?  Not  on  trivial  grounds,  I  think.  It  is 
no  small  thing  for  so  young  a  man  to  have  formed  an  opin¬ 
ion  on  such  an  important  matter.  For  he,  he  says,  knows 
how  the  young  are  corrupted,  and  who  are  their  corrupt¬ 
ers.  He  must  be  a  wise  man.  who,  observing  my  ignorance, 
is  going  to  accuse  me  to  the  city,  as  his  mother,  of  corrupt¬ 
ing  his  friends.  I  think  that  he  is  the  only  man  who  be- 


61 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


62 

Jgins  at  the  right  point  in  his  political  reforms:  I  mean 
whose  first  care  is  to  make  the  young  men  as  perfect  as 
possible,  just  as  a  good  farmer, will  take  care  of  his  young 
plants  first,  and,  after  he  has.  done  that,  of  the  others.  And 
so  Meletus,  I  suppose,  is  first  clearing  us  off,  who,  as  he 
says,  corrupt  the  young  men  as  they  grow  up;  and  then, 
when  he  has  done  that,  of  course  he  will  turn  his  attention 
to  the  older  men,  and  so  become  a  very  great  public  bene¬ 
factor.  Indeed,  that  is  only  what  you  would  expect,  when 
he  goes  to  work  in  this  way. 

Eutli.  I  hope  it  may  be  so,  Socrates,  but  I  have  very 
grave  doubts  about  it.  It  seems  to  me  that  in  trying  to  in¬ 
jure  you,  he  is  really  setting  to  work  by  striking  a  blow  at 
the  heart  of  the  state.  But  how,  tell  me,  does  he  say  that 
vou  corrupt  the  youth  ?  • 

iA,  J  Socr.  In  a  way  which  sounds  strange  at  first,  my  friend. 
f  He  says  that  I  am  a  maker  of  gods;  and  so  he  is  prose¬ 
cuting  me,  he  says,  for  inventing  new  gods,  and  for  not 
believing  in  the  old  ones. 

Eutli.  I  understand,  Socrates.  It  is  because  you  say 
that  you  always  have  a  divine  sign.  So  he  is  prosecuting 
you  for  introducing  novelties  into  religion ;  and  he  is  going 
irco  court  knowing  that  such  matters  are  easily  misrepre¬ 
sented  to  the  multitude,  and  consequently  meaning  to  slan¬ 
der  you  there.  Why,  they  laugh  even  me  to  scorn,  as  if  I 
were  out  of  my  mind,  when  I  talk  about  divine  things  in 
the  assembly,  and  tell  them  what  is  going  to  happen:  and 
v.  yet  I  have  never  foretold  anything  which  has  not  come 
true.  But  they  ar^  jealous  of  all  people  like  us.  We 
must  not  think  about  them:  we  must  meet  them  boldly. 

Socr.  My  dear  Euthypliron,  their  ridicule  is  not  a  very 
fv  serious  matter.  The  Athenians,  it  seems  to  me,  may  think 
a  man  to  be  clever  without  paying  him  much  attention,  so 
1  long  as  they  do  not  think  that  he  teaches  his  wisdom  to 
others.  But  as  soon  as  they  think  that  he  makes  other 
people  clever,  they  get  angrv  whether  it  be  from  jealousy, 
as  you  say,  or  for  some  other  reason. 

Eutli.  I  am  not  very  anxious  to  try  their  disposition 
towards  me  in  this  matter. 


EUTHYPHRON. 


63 


Socr.  No,  perhaps  they  think  that  you  seldom  show 
yourself,  and  that  you  are  not  anxious  to  teach  your  wisdom 
to  others;  but  I  fear  that  they  may  think  that  I  am;  for 
my  love  of  men  makes  me  talk  to  every  one  whom  I  meet 
quite  freely  and  unreservedly,  and  without  payment":  IrP 
deed,  if  1  could,  1  would  gladly  pay  people  myself  to  listen 
to  me.  If  then,  as  I  said  just  how,  they  were  only  going  To 
laugh  at  me,  as  you  say  they  do  at  you,  it  would  not 
be  at  all  an  unpleasant  way  of  spending  the  day,  to  spend 
it  in  court,  jesting  and  laughing.  But  if  they  are  going 
to  be  in  earnest,  then  only  prophets  like  you  can  tell  where 
the  matter  will  end. 

Futh.  Well,  Socrates  I  dare  say  that  nothing  will  come 
it.  A  ery  likely  you  will  be  successful  in  your  trial,  and 
I  think  that  I  shall  be  in  mine. 

Socr.  And  what  is  this  sun  ef  yours,  Euthyphron?  Are 
you  suing,  or  being  sued? 

Euth.  I  am  suing. 

Socr.  Whom  ? 

Euth.  A  man  whom  I  am  thought  a  maniac  to  be  suing, 

Socr.  What?  Has  he  wings  to  fly  away  with? 

Evtk.  He  is  far  enough  from  flying;  he  is  a  very  old 
man. 

Socr.  Who  is  he  ? 

Euth.  He  is  my  father. 

Socr.  Your  father,  my  good  sir? 

Euth.  He  is  indeed. 

Socr.  What  are  you  prosecuting  him  for?  What  is  the 
charge  ? 

Euth.  It  is  a  charge  of  murder,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Good  hea  ens,  Euthyphron!  Surely  the  multi¬ 
tude  are  ignorant  of  what  makes  right.  I  take  it  that  it 
is  u  t  every  one  who  could  rightly  do  what  you  are  doing; 
only  a  man  who  was  already  well  advanced  in  wisdom. 

Euth.  That  is  quite  true,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Was  the  man  whom  your  father  killed  a  relative 
of  yours  ?  Nav.  of  course- he  was:  -mn  won  id  never  h:ivo 
fiaw ful  —r  for  the  murder  of  stranger  ■' 

Ev.th.  You  amuse  me,  Socrates,  What  difference  does 


64 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


it  make  whether  the  murdered  man  was  a  relative  or  a 
stranger  ?  The  only  question  that  you  jiave  to  ask  is,  did 
the  slaver  slay  justly  or  not r  Tf  justlyZycm  must  let  him 
alone ;  if  unjustly,  you  must  indiet  hirnJar  murder,  even 
though  he  share  your  hearth  and  sit  at  your  table.  The 
pollution  is  the  same,  if  you  associate  with  _such  ajnan, 
knowing  what  he  has  done,  without  purifying  yourself, 
and  him  too,  by  bringing  him  to  j,usii<<\  In  the  present 
ease  the  murdered  man  was  a  poor  dependant  of  mine, 
who  worked  for  us  on  our  farm  in  Xaxos.  In  a  fit  of 
drunkenness  he  got  in  a  rage  with  one  of  our  slaves,  and 
killed  him.  My  father  therefore  bound  the  man  hand  and 
foot  and  threw  him  into  a  ditch,  while  he  sent  to  Athens  to 
ask  the  seer  what  he  should  do.  While  the  messenger 
I  was  gone,  he  entirely  neglected  the  man,  thinking  that  he 
'was  a  murderer,  and  that  it  would  be  no  great  matter, 
even  if  he  were  to  die.  And  that  was  exactly  what  hap¬ 
pened  ;  hunger  and  cold  and  his  bonds  killed  him  before 
the  messenger  returned.  And  now  my  father  and  the  rest 
of  my  family  are  indignant  with  me  because  I  am  prose¬ 
cuting  my  father  for  the  murder  of  this  murderer.  They 
assert  that  he  did  not  kill  the  man  at  all;  and  they  say 
that,  even  if  he  had  killed  him  over  and  over  again,  the 
man  himself  was  a  murderer,  and  that  I  ought  not  to  con¬ 
cern  myself  about  such  a  person,  because  it  is  unholy  for 
a  son  to  prosecute  his  father  for  murder.  So  little,  Soc¬ 
rates,  do  they  know  the  divine  law  of  holiness  and  unholi¬ 
ness. 

Socr.  And  do  you  mean  to  say,  Euthyphron,  that  you 
think  that  you  understand  divine  things,  and  holiness  and 
unholiness,  so  accurately  that,  in  such  a  case  as  you  have 
stated,  you  can  bring  )^our  father  to  justice  without  fear 
that  you  yourself  may  be  doing  an  unholy  deed  ? 

Euih.  If  I  did  not  understand  all  these  matters  ac¬ 
curately,  Socrates,  I  should  be  of  no  use,  and  Euthyphron 
would  not  be  any  better  than  other  men. 

Socr.  Then,  my  excellent  Euthyphron,  I  cannot  do  better 
than  become  your  pupil,  and  challenge  Meletus  on  this  very 
point  before  the  trial  begins.  I  should  say  that  I  had  al- 


EUTHYPHRON. 


65 


ways  thought  it  Tory  important  to  have  knowledge  about 
divine  things ;  and  that  now,  when  he  says  that  I  offend  by 
speaking  lightly  about  them,  and  by  introducing  novelties 
in  them,  I  have  become  your  pupil ;  and  I  should  say, 
Meletus,  if  you  acknowledge  Euthyphron  to  be  wise  in  these 
'inatfers-hmdll.n  hold  the  true  belief,  then  think  the . same . 
of  me?  and  do  not  put  me  on  my  trial ;  but  if  you  do  not,, 
‘wlmnjnnng  a  suit7  not  'agamsnhe,"buf~against  my  master 
r  corrupting  his  eiders;  namely,  me  whom  ho  corrupts 
by  his  doctrine,  ancTBfs~own  father  whom  he  corrupts  by 
admonishing  and  chastisingTBrir:  AncTT?  I  did  not  suc¬ 
ceed  in  persuading’ him  to  release  me  from  the  suit,  or 
to  indict  you  in  my  place,  then  I  could  repeat  my  challenge 
in  court. 

Euth.  Yes,  by  Zeus,  Socrates,  I  think  I  should  find  out 
his  weak  points,  if  he  were  to  try  to  indict  me.  I  should -J 
have  a  good  deal  to  say  about  him  in  court  long  before  I 
spoke  about  myself.  > 

Socr.  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  and  knowing  this,  I  am 
anxious  to  become  your  pupil.  I  see  that  Meletus  here, 
and  others  too,  seem  not  to  notice  you  at  all;  but  he  sees 
through  me  without  difficulty  and  at  once,  and  prosecutes 
me  for  impiety  forthwith.  Now,  therefore,  please  explain 
to  me  what  you  were  so  confident  just  now  that  you  knew. 
Tell  me  what  are  piety  and  impiety  with  reference  to  mur¬ 
der  and  everything  else.  I  suppose  that  holiness  is  the 
same  in  all  actions  ;  and,  that  u njiniinassj  s.  a Iways  the  oppo- 
_site  of  holiness,  and  like  itself,  and  that,  as  unhoI!negs7 it”* 
always  lias  the  same  essential  nature,  which  will  be  found 
in  whatever  is  unholy. 

Euth.  Certainly,  Socrates,  I  suppose  so. 

Socr.  Tell  me,  then;  what  is  holiness,  and  what  is  un¬ 
holiness  ? 

Euth.  Well,  then.  I  sav  that  holiness  means  prosecuting 
the  wrong  doer  who  has  committed  murder  or  sacrilege,  or 
any  other  such  crime,  as  I  am  doing  now,  whether  he  be 
your  father  or  your  mother  or  whoever  he  be ;  and  I  say 
that  unholiness  means  not  prosecuting  him.  And  observe, 
Socrates,  I  will  give  you  a  clear  proof,  which  I  have  already 


66 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


given  to  others,  that  it  is  so,  and  that  doing  right  means 
not  suffering  the  sacrilegious  man,  whosoever  he  may  be. 
Men  hold  Zeus  to  be  the  best  and  the  justest  of  the  gods; 
and  they  admit  that  Zeus  bound  his  own  father,  Cronos, 
for  devouring  his  children  wickedly;  and  that  Cronos  in 
his  turn  castrated  his  father  for  similar  reasons.  And  yet 
these  same  men  are  angry  with  me  because  1  proceed  against 
my  father  for  doing  wrong.  So,  you  see,  they  say  one 
thing  in  the  case  of  the  gods  and  quite  another  in  mine. 

Socr.  Is  not  that  why  1  am  being  prosecuted,  Euthy- 
phron?  I  mean,  because  I  am  displeased  when  I  hear  peo¬ 
ple  say  such  things  about  the  gods?  I  expect  that  I  shall 
be  called  a  sinner,  because  I  doubt  those  stories.  Now  if 
you,  who  understand  all  these  matters  so  well,  agree  in 
holding  all  those  tales  true,  then  I  suppose  that  I  must 
needs  give  way.  What  could  I  say  when  I  admit  myself 
that  I  know  nothing  about  them?  But  tell  me,  in  the 
name  of  friendship,  do  you  really  believe  that  these  things 
have  actually  happened. 

Euth.  Yes,  and  stranger  ones  too,  Socrates,  which  the 
multitude  do  not  know  of. 

Socr.  Then  you  really  believe  that  there  is  war  among 
the  gods,  and  bitter  hatreds,  and  battles,  such  as  the  poets 
tell  of,  and  which  the  great  painters  have  depicted  in  our 
temples,  especially  in  the  pictures  which  cover  the  robe  that 
is  carried  up  to  the  Acropolis  at  the  great  Panathenaic 
festival.  Are  we  to  say  that  these  things  are  true,  Euthy- 
phron  ? 

Euth.  Yes,  Socrates,  and  more  besides.  As  I  was  say¬ 
ing,  I  will  relate  to  you  many  other  stories  about  divine  mat¬ 
ters,  if  you  like,  which  I  am  sure  will  astonish  you  when 
you  hear  them. 

Socr.  I  dare  say.  You  shall  relate  them  to  me  at  your 
leisure  another  time.  At  present  please  try  to  give  a  more 
definite  answer  to  the  question  which  I  asked  you  just  now. 
What  I  asked  you,  my  friend,  was.  What  is  holiness?  and 
you  have  not  explained  it  to  me,  to  my  satisfaction.  You 
only  tell  me  that  what  you  are  doing  now,  namely  prose¬ 
cuting  your  father  for  murder,  is  a  holy  act. 


EUTHYPHRON. 


Euth.  Well,  that  is  true,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Very  likely.  But  many  other  actions  are  holy, 
are  they  not,  Euthyphron  ? 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Remember,  then,  I  did  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  one 
or  two  of  all  the  many  holy  actions  that  there  are;  I 
want  to  know  what  is  the  essential  form  of  holiness  which 
makes  all  holy  actions  holy.  You  said,  I  think,  that  there 
is  one  form  which  makes  all  holy  actions  holy,  and  another 
form  which  makes  all  unholy  actions  unholy.  Do  you  not 
remember  ? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  Well,  then,  explain  to  me  what  is  this  form,  that 
I  may  have  it  to  turn  to,  and  to  use  as  a  standard  whereby 
to  judge  your  actions,  and  those  of  other  men,  and  be  able 
to  say  that  whatever  action  resembles  it  is  holy,  and  what¬ 
ever  does  not,  is  not  holy. 

Euth.  Yes,  I  will  tell  you  that,  if  you  wish  it,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Certainly  I  wish  it. 

I  Euth.  Well  then,  what  is  pleasimi-to  the  gods  is  holy 
and  what  is  noi  pleasi  hem  is  unholy. 

Socr.  Beautiful,  Euthyphron.  Now  you  have  given  me 
the  answer  that  I  wanted.  Whether  what  you  say  is  true, 
I  do  not  know  yet.  But  of  course  you  will  go  on  to  prove 
the  truth  of  it. 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Come  then,  let  us  examine  our  words.  The  things 
and  the  men  that  are  pleasing  to  the  gods  are  holy ;  and  the 
things  and  the  men  that  are  displeasing  to  the  gods  are 
unholy.  But  holiness  and  unholiness  are  not  the  same: 
they  are  as  opposite  as  possible ;  was  not  that  said  ? 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  And  I  think  that  was  very  well  said. 

Euth.  Yes,  Socrates,  that  was  certainly  said. 

Socr.  Have  we  not  also  said,  Euthyphron,  that  there 
are  factions,  and  disagreements,  and  hatreds  among  the 
gods  ? 

Euth.  We  have. 

Socr,  But  what  kind  of  disagreement,  my  friend,  causes 


G8  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

hatred  and  wrath  ?  Let  us  look  at  the  matter  thus.  If 
you  and  I  were  to  disagree  as  to  whether  one  number  were 
more  than  another,  would  that  provoke  us  to  anger,  and 
make  us  enemies?  Should  we  not  settle  such  dispute  at 
once  by  counting? 

Eutli.  Of  course. 

Socr.  And  if  we  were  to  disagree  as  to  the  relative  size 
of  two  things,  we  should  measure  them,  and  put  an  end  to 
the  disagreement  at  once,  should  we  not? 

Eutli.  Yes. 

Socr.  And  should  we  not  settle  a  question  about  the 
relative  weight  of  two  things,  by  weighing  them  ? 

Eutli.  Of  course. 

.  Socr.  Then  what  is  the  question  which  would  provoke  j 
I  us  to  anger,  and  make  us  enemies,  if  we  disagreed  about  it,  * 
and  could  not  come  to  a  settlement?  Perhaps  you  have 
not  an  answer  ready :  but  listen  to  me.  Is  it  not  the  ques¬ 
tion  of  right  and  wrong,  of  the  honorable  and  the  base,  of 
the  good  and  the  bad  ?  Is  it  not  questions  about  these  mat¬ 
ters  which  make  you  and  me,  and  every  one  else  quarrel, 
when  we  do  quarrel,  if  we  differ  about  them,  and  can  reach 
no  satisfactory  settlement  ? 

Eutli.  Yes,  Socrates;  it  is  disagreements  about  these 
matters. 

Socr.  Well,  Euthyphron,  the  gods  will  quarrel  over  these 
things,  if  they  quarrel  at  all,  will  they  not? 

Eutli.  Necessarily. 

Socr.  Then,  my  excellent  Euthyphron,  you  say  that 
some  of  the  gods  think  one  thing  right,  and  others  another : 
and  that  what  some  of  them  hold  to  be  honorable  or  good, 
others  hold  to  be  base  or  evil.  For  there  would  not  have 
been  factions  among  them  if  they  had  not  disagreed  on 
these  points,  would  there? 

Eutli.  You  are  right. 

Socr.  And  each  of  them  loves  what  he  thinks  honorable, 
and  good,  and  right,  and  hates  the  opposite,  does  he  not? 

Eutli.  Certainly. 

Socr.  But  you  say  that  the  same  action  is  held  by  some 

eelAna  H  ^ 


EUTHYPHRON. 


09 


of  them  to  be  right,  and  by  others  to  be  wrong;  and  that 
then  they  dispute  about  it,  and  so  quarrel  and  fight  among 
themselves.  Is  it  not  so  ? 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  Then  the  same  thing  is  hated  by  the  gods  and  loved 
by  them ;  and  the  same  thing  will  be  displeasing  and  pleas¬ 
ing  to  them. 

Euth.  Apparently. 

Socr.  Then,  according  to  your  account,  the  same  thing 


will  be  holy  and  unholy. 
Euth.  So  it  seems. 


Socr.  Then,  my  good  friend,  you  have  not  answered  my 
question.  I  did  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  action  is  both 
holy  and  unholy ;  but  it  seems  that  whatever  is  pleasing  to 
the  gods  is  also  . displeasing  to  them.  And  so,  Euthyphron, 
I  should  not  wonder  if  what  you"  are  doing  now  in  chastis¬ 
ing  your  father  is  a  deed  well-pleasing  to  Zeus,  but  hateful 
to  Cronos  and  Ouranos,  and  acceptable  to  Hephaestus,  but 
hateful  to  Here;  and  if  any  of  the  other  gods  disagree 
about  it,  pleasing  to  some  of  them  and  displeasing  to 
others. 

Euth.  But  on  this  point,  Socrates,  I  think  that  there  is 
no  difference  of  opinion  among  the  gods :  they  all  hold  that 
if  one  man  kills  another  wrongfully,  he  must  be  pun¬ 
ished. 

Socr.  What,  Euthyphron?  Among  mankind,  have  you 
never  heard  disputes  whether  a  man  ought  to  be  punished 
for  killing  another  man  wrongfully,  or  for  doing  some 
other  wrong  deed  ? 

Euth.  Indeed,  they  never  cease  from  these  disputes,  es¬ 
pecially  in  courts  of  justice.  They  do  all  manner  of  wrong 
things;  and  then  there  is  nothing  which  they  will  not  do 
and  say  to  avoid  punishment. 

Socr.  Do  they  admit  that  they  have  done  wrong,  and  at 
the  same  time  deny  that  they  ought  to  be  punished, 
Euthyphron  ? 

Euth.  No,  indeed;  that  they  do  not. 

Socr.  Then  it  is  not  everything  that  they  will  do  and  say. 
I  take  it,  they  do  not  venture  to  assert  or  argue  that  if  they 


70 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


do  do  wrong  they  must  not  be  punished.  What  they  say  is 
that  they  have  not  done  wrong,  is  it  not  ? 

Euth.  That  is  true. 

Socr.  Then  they  do  not  dispute  the  proposition,  that  the 
wrong  doer  must  he  pumsnea.  1'hey  dispute  ahmit.  tha 
<y.i  st  -  w ho  i.-  a  wrong  «h  or,  and  win  n.  ami  wha;  is  a 
wrong  deed,  do  tlmy  nnt? 

Euth.  That  is  trueT 

Socr.  Well,  is  not  exactly  the  same  thing  true  of  the 
gods,  if  they  quarrel  about  right  and  wrong,  as  you  say 
they  do?  Do  not  some  of  them  assert  that  the  others  are 
doing  wrong,  while  the  others  deny  it  ?  No  one,  I  suppose, 
my  dear  friend,  whether  god  or  man,  ventures  to  say  that 
a  person  who  has  done  wrong  must  not  be  punished. 

Euth.  No,  Socrates,  that  is  true,  in  the  main. 

Socr.  I  take  it,  Euthyphron,  that  the  disputants,  whether 
men  or  gods,  if  the  gods  do  dispute,  dispute  about  each 
separate  act.  When  they  quarrel  about  any  act,  some  of 
them  say  that  it  was  done  rightly,  and  others  that  it  was 
done  wrongly.  Is  it  not  so? 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  Come  then,  my  dear  Euthyphron,  please  enlighten 
me  on  this  point.  What  proof  have  you  that  all  the  gods 
think  that  a  laborer  who  has  been  imprisoned  for  murder 
by  the  master  of  the  man  whom  he  has  murdered,  and 
who  dies  from  his  imprisonment  before  the  master  has  had 
time  to  learn  from  the  seers  what  he  should  do,  dies  by  in¬ 
justice?  How  do  you  know,  that  it  is  right  for  a  son  to 
indict  his  father,  and  to  prosecute  him  for  the  murder  of 
such  a  man  ?  Come,  see  if  you  can  make  it  clear  to  me  that 
the  gods  necessarily  agree  in  thinking  that  this  action  of 
3Tours  is  right;  and  if  you  satisfy  me,  I  will  never  cease 
singing  your  praises  for  wisdom. 

Euth.  I  could  make  that  clear  enough  to  you,  Socrates; 
but  I  am  afraid  that  it  would  be  a  long  business. 

Socr.  I  see  you  think  that  I  am  duller  than  the  judges. 
To  them  of  course  you  will  make  it  clear  that  your  father 
has  done  wrong,  and  that  all  the  gods  agree  in  hating  such 
deeds, 


EUTj^PHRON. 


Euih.  I  will  indeed,  Socrates,  if  they  will  only  listen  to 
me. 

Socr.  They  will  listen,  if  only  they  think  that  you  speak 
well.  But  while  you  were  speaking,  it  occurred  to  me  to 
ask  myself  this  question:  suppose  that  Euthyphron  were 
to  prove  to  me  as  clearly  as  possible  that  all  the  gods  think 
such  a  death  unjust ;  how  has  he  brought  me  any  nearer  to 
understanding  what  holiness  and  unholiness  are?  This 
particular  act,  perhaps,  may  he  displeasing  to  the  gods., 
but  then  we  have  just  seen  that  holiness  and  unholiness 
cannot  be  defined  in  that  way:  for  we  have  seen  that  what 
is  displeasing  to  the  gods  is  also  pleasing  to  them.  So  I 
will  let  you  off  on  this  point,  Euthyphron;  and  all  the 
gods  shall  agree  in  thinking  your  father’s  deed  wrong,  and 
in  hating  it,  if  you  like.  But  shall  we  correct  our  defini¬ 
tion  and  say  that  whatever  all  the  gods  hate  is  unholy,  and 
whatever  they  all  love  is  holy :  while  whatever  some  of  them 
love,  and  others  hate,  is  eithcr-both  or  neither?  Do  you 
wish  us  now  to  define  holiness  and  unholiness  in  this  man¬ 
ner? 

Euih.  Why  not,  Socrates? 

Socr.  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not,  Euthyphron. 
It  is  for  you  to  consider  whether  that  definition  will  help 
you  to  instruct  me  as  you  promised. 
f  Euih.  Well,  I  should  say  that  holiness  is  what  all  the 
v  gods  love,  and  that  unholiness  is  what  they  all  hate. 

Socr.  Are  we  to  examine  this  definition,  Euthyphron, 
and  see  if  it  is  a  good  one?  or  are  we  to  he  content  to  ac¬ 
cept  the  bare  assertions  of  other  men,  or  of  ourselves,  with¬ 
out  asking  any  questions  ?  Or  must  we  examine  the  asser¬ 
tions  ? 

Euih.  We  must  examine  them.  But  for  my  part  I  #iink 
that  the  definition  is  right  this  time. 

Socr.  We  shall  know  that  better  in  a  little  while,  my 
good  friend.  Now  consider  this  question.  Do  the  gods  love 
holiness  because  itis.holv.-or  is  it  hoLv. because  llievlmmljEJl 

Euth.  I  do  not  understand  you,  Socrates. 

Socr.  I  will  try  to  explain  myself :  we  speak  of  a  thing 
being  carried  and  carrying,  and  being  led  and  leading,  and 


72 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


being  tseen  and  seeing;  and  you  understand  that  all  such" 
expressions  mean  different  things,  and  what  the  difference 
is. 

Euth.  Yes,  I  think  I  understand. 

Socr.  And  we  talk  of  a  thing  being  loved,  and,  which  is 
different,  of  a  thing  loving? 

Euth.  Of  course. 

Socr.  Now  tell  me:  is  a  thing  which  is  being  carried  in 
a  state  of  being  carried,  because  it  is  carried,  or  for  some 
other  reason  ? 

Euth.  No,  because  it  is  carried. 

Socr.  And  a  thing  is  in  a  state  of  being  led,  because  it 
is  led,  and  of  being  seen,  because  it  is  seen  ? 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Then  a  thing  is  not  seen  because  it  is  in  a  state 
of  being  seen ;  it  is  in  a  state  of  being  seen  because  it  is 
seen :  and  a  thing  is  not  led  because  it  is  in  a  state  of  being 
led;  it  is  in  a  state  of  being  led  because  it  is  led:  and 
a  thing  is  not  carried  because  it  is  in  a  state  of  being 
carried ;  it  is  in  a  state  of  being  carried  because  it  is  car¬ 
ried.  Is  my  meaning  clear  now,  Euthyphron?  I  mean 
this:  if  anything  becomes,  or  is  affected,  it  does  not  become 
because  it  is  in  a  state  of  becoming;  it  is  in  a  state  of  be¬ 
coming  because  it  becomes;  and  it  is  not  affected  because 
it  is  in  a  state  of  being  affected:  it  is  in  a  state  of  being 
affected  because  it  is  affected.  Do  you  not  agree  ? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  Is  not  that  which  is  being  loved  in  a  state,  either 
of  becoming,  or  of  being  affected  in  some  way  by  some¬ 
thing  ? 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Then  the  same  fs  true  here  as  in  the  former  cases. 
A  thing  is  not  loved  by  those  who  love  it  because  it  is  in  a 
state  of  being  loved.  It  is  in  a  state  of  being  loved  because 
they  love  it. 

Euth.  Necessarily. 

Socr.  Well,  then,  Euthyphron,  what  do  we  say  about 
holiness?  Is  it  not  loved  by  all  the  gods,  according  to  your 
definition? 


EUTHYPHRON. 


73 


Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  Because  it  is  holy,  or  for  some  other  reason? 

Euth.  No,  because  it  is  holy. 

Socr.  Then  it  is  loved  by  the  gods  because  it  is  holy:  it 
is  not  holy  because  it  is  loved  by  them  ? 

Euth.  It  seems  so. 

Socr.  But  then  what  is  pleasing  to  the  gods  is  pleasing 
to  them,  and  is  in  a  state  of  being  loved  by  them,  because 
they  love  it  ? 

Euth.  Of  course. 

Socr.  Then  holiness  is  not  what  is  pleasing  to  the  gods* 
and  what  is  pleasing  to  the  gods  is  not  holy,  as  you  say* 
Euthyphron.  They  are  different  things. 

Euth.  And  why,  Socrates? 

Socr.  Because  we  a r e_a.gr eed  that  the  gods  love  holiness 
because  i  [y  ramTthat  it  is  not  holy  Decause  thev~  love 
it.  Is  not  .tins  so.? 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  And  that  what  is  pleasing  to  the  gods  because  they 
love  it,  is  pleasing  to  them  by  reason  of  this  same  love :  and 
that  they  do  not  love  it  because  it  is  pleasing  to  them. 

Euth.  True. 

Socr.  Then,  my  dear  Euch  ,,  'iron,  holiness,  and  what 
is  pleasing  to  the  gods,  are  different  things.  If  the  gods 
had  loved  holiness  because  it  is  holy,  they  would  also  have 
loved  what  is  pleasing  to  them  because  it  is  pleasing  to 
them;  but  if  what  is  pleasing  to  them  had  been  pleasing 
to  them  because  they  loved  it,  then  holiness  too  would  have 
been  holiness,  because  they  loved  it.  But  now  you  see  that 
they  are  opposite  things,  and  wholly  different  from  each 
other.  For  the  one  is  of  the  sort  to  be  loved  because  it  is 
loved :  while  the  other  is  loved,  because  it  is  of  a  sort  to  be 
loved.  My  question,  Euthyphron,  was,  What  is  holiness? 
But  it  turns  out  that  you  have  not  explained  to  me  the 
essence  of  holiness;  you  have  been  content  to  mention  an 
attribute  which  belongs  to  it,  namely,  that  all  the  gods  love 
it.  You  have  not  yet  told  me  what  is  its  essence.  Do  not, 
if  you  please,  keep  from  me  what  holiness  is;  begin  again 
and  tell  me  that.  Never  mind  whether  the  gods  love  it, 


74 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


or  whether  it  has  other  attributes:  we  shall  not  differ  on 
that  point.  Do  your  best  to  make  clear  to  me  what  is 
holiness  and  what  is  unholiness. 

Euth.  But,  Socrates,  I  really  don’t  know  how  to  ex¬ 
plain  to  you  what  is  in  my  mind.  Whatever  we  put  for¬ 
ward  always  somehow  moves  round  in  a  circle,  and  will 
not  stay  where  we  place  it. 

Socr.  I  think  that  your  definitions,  Euthyphron,  are 
worthy  of  my  ancestor  Daedalus.  If  they  had  been  mine 
and  I  had  laid  them  down,  I  dare  say  you  would  have 
made  fun  of  me,  and  said  that  it  was  the  consequence  of 
my  descent  from  Daedalus  that  the  definitions  which  I 
construct  run  away,  as  his  statues  used  to,  and  will  not 
stay  where  they  are  placed.  But,  as  it  is,  the  definitions 
are  yours,  and  +he  jest  would  have  no  point.  You  yourself 
see  that  they  will  not  stay  still. 

Euth.  Nay,  Socrates,  1  think  that  the  jest  is  very  much 
in  point.  It  is  not  my  fault  that  the  definition  moves 
round  in  a  circle  and  will  not  stay  still.  But  you  are  the 
Daedalus,  I  think:  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  my  defini¬ 
tions  would  have  stayed  quiet  enough. 

Socr.  Then,  my  friend,  I  must  be  a  more  skilful  artist 
than  Daedalus:  he  only  used  to  make  his  own  works  move; 
whereas  I,  you  see,  can  make  other  people’s  works  move 
tpo.  And  t'lie  beaufy'of  it  is  that  I  am  wise  against  my 
will.  I  would  rather  that  our  definitions  had  remained 
firm  and  immovable  than  have  all  the  wisdom  of  Daedalus 
and  all  the  riches  of  Tantalus  to  boot.  But  enough  of 
this.  I  will  do  my  best  to  help  you  to  explain  to  me  what 
holiness 'is:  for  I  think  that  you  are  indolent.  Don’t 
give  in  yet.  Tell  me;  do  you  not  think  that  all  holiness 
must  be  just? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  Well,  then,  is  all  justice  holy  too?  Or,  while 
all  holiness  is  just,  is  a  part  only  of  justice  holy,  and  the 
rest  of  it  something  else? 

Evth.  I  do  not  follow  you,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Yet  you  have  the  advantage  over  me  in  your  youth 
no  less  in  your  wisdom.  But,  as  I  say,  the  wealth  of  your 


EUTHYPHRON. 


75 


■wisdom  makes  you  indolent.  Exert  yourself,  my  good 
friend :  I  am  not  asking  you  a  difficult  question.  I  mean 
the  opposite  of  what  the  poet  said,  when  he  wrote: — 

“  Thou  wilt  not  name  Zeus  the  creator,  who  made  all  things  : 
for  where,  there  is  fear  there  also  is  reverence.” 

Now  I  disagree  with  the  poet.  Shall  I  tell  you  why? 

Filth.  Yes. 

Socr.  I  do  not  think  it  true  to  say  that  where  there  is 
fear,  there  also  is  reverence.  Many  people  who  fear  sick¬ 
ness  and  poverty  and  other  such  evils,  seem  to  me  to  have 
fear,  but  no  reverence  for  what  they  fear.  Do  you  not 
think  so? 

Euth.  Ido.  .  yjiJL-  " 

Socr.  But  I  think  that  where  there  is  reverence,  there 
also  is  fear.  Does  any  man  feel  reverence  and  a  sense  of 
shame  about  anything,  without  at  the  same  time  dreading 
and  fearing  the  character  of  baseness? 

Euth.  No,  certainly  not. 

Socr.  Then,  though,  there  is  fear  wherever  there  is 
reverence,  it  is  not  correct  to  say  that  where  there  is  fear 
there  also  is  reverence.  Reverence  d$>  not  always  accom¬ 
pany  fear;  for  fear,  I  take  it,  is  wider  than  reverence.  It 
is  a  part  of  fear,  just  as  the  odd  is  a  part  of  number,  so 
that  where  you  have  the  odd,  you  must  also  have  number, 
though  where  you  have  number,  you  do  not  necessarily 
have  the  odd.  Now  I  think  you  follow  me  ? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  Well,  then,  this  is  what  I  meant  by  the  ques¬ 
tion  which  I  asked  you:  is  there  always  holiness  where 
there  is  justice?  or,  though  there  is  always  justice 
where  there  is  holiness,  yet  there  is  not  always  holiness 
where  there  is  justice,  because  holiness  is  only  a  part  of 
justice  ?  Shall  we  say  this,  or  do  you  differ  ? 

Euth.  No :  I  agree.  I  think  that  you  are  right. 

Socr.  Now  observe  the  next  point.  If  holiness  is  a  part 
of  justice,  we  must  find  out,  I  suppose,  what  part  of  jus¬ 
tice  it  is?  Now,  if  you  had  asked  me  just  now,  for  in¬ 
stance,  what  part  of  number  is  the  odd,  and  what  number 
is  an  odd  number,  I  should,  have  said  that  whatever  num¬ 
ber  is  not  even,  is  an  odd  number.  Is  it  not  so  ? 

f4/ Mm — 


?6  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  Then  see  if  you  can  explain  to  me  what  part  of 
justice  is  holiness,  that  I  may  tell  Meletus  that  now  that 
I  have  learnt  perfectly  from  you  what  actions  are  pious 
and  holy,  and  what  are  not,  he  must  give  up  prosecuting 
me  unjustly  for  iinnietu. 

Euth.  Well,  then,  Socrates,  I  should  say  that  piety  and 
holiness  are  that  part  of  justice  which  has  to  do  with  the 
attention  which  is  due  to  the  gods:  and  that  what  has  to 
do  with  the  attention  which  is  due  to  men,  is  the  remaining 
part  of  justice. 

Socr.  And  I  think  that  your  answer  is  a  good  one,  Euthy- 
phron.  But  there  is  one  little  point,  of  which  I  still 
want  to  hear  more.  I  do  not  yet  understand  what  the 
attention  or  care  which  you  are  speaking  of  is.  I  suppose 
you  do  not  mean  that  the  care  which  we  show  to  the  gods 
is  like  the  care  which  we  show  to  other  things.  We  say, 
for  instance,  do  we  not,  that  not  every  one  knows  how  to 
take  care  of  horses,  but  only  the  trainer  of  horses  ? 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  For  I  suppose  that  the  art  that  relates  to  horses 
means  the  care  of  horses. 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  And  not  every  one  understands  the  care  of  dogs, 
but  only  the  huntsman. 

Euth.  True. 

Socr.  For  I  suppose  that  the  huntsman’s  art  means  the 
care  of  dogs. 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  And  the  herdsman’s  art  means  the.  care  of  cattle. 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  And  you  say  that  holiness  and  piety  mean  the  care 
of  the  gods,  Euthyphron? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  Well,  then,  has  not  all  care  the  same  object?  Is 
it  not  for  the  good  and  benefit  of  that  on  which  it  is 
bestowed?  for  instance,  you  see  that  horses  are  benefited 
and  improved  when  they  are  cared  for  by  the  art  which  is 
concerned  with  them.  Is  it  not  so  ? 


EUTHYPHRON. 


77 


Euth.  Yes-;  I  think  so. 

Socr.  And  dogs  are  benefited  and  improved  by  the  hunts¬ 
man’s  art,  and  cattle  by  th'%  herdsman’s,  are  they  not  7 
And  the  same  is  always  true.  Or  do  you  think  the  care  is 
ever  meant  to  hurt  that  on  which  it  is  bestowed  ? 

Euth.  No  indeed;  certainly  not. 

Socr.  But  to  benefit  it? 

Euth.  Of  course. 

Socr.  Then  is  holiness,  which  is  the  care  which  we  be¬ 
stow  on  the  gods,  intended  to  benefit  the  gods,  or  to 
improve  them  ?  Should  you  allow  that  you  make  any 
of  the  gods  better,  when  you  do  an  holy  action? 

Euth.  No  indeed;  certainly  not. 

Socr.  No:  I  am  quite  sure  that  that  is  not  your  mean¬ 
ing,  Euthyphron :  it  was  for  that  reason  that  I  asked  you 
what  you  meant  by  the  attention  due  to  the  gods.  I 
thought  that  you  did  not  mean  that. 

Euth.  You  were  right,  Socrates.  I  do  not  mean  that. 

Socr.  Good.  Then  what  sort  of  attention  to  the  gods 
will  holiness  be? 

Euth.  The  attention,  Socrates,  of  slaves  to  their  mas¬ 
ters. 

Socr.  I  understand:  then  it.  .is.  a- kind  of  service  to  the 

gocl&£ 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Can  you  tell  me  what  result  the  art  which  serves 
a  doctor  serves  to  produce?  Is  it  not  health? 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  And  what  result  does  the  art  which  serves  a 
shipwright  serve  to  produce? 

Euth.  A  ship,  of  course,  Socrates. 

Socr.  The  result  of  the  art  which  serves  a  builder  is  a 
house,  is  it  not? 

Euth.  Yes. 

Socr.  Then  tell  me,  my  excellent  friend :  What  result 
will  the  art  whiclv serves  the  gods  serve  to  produce?  You 
must  know,  seeing  that  you  say  that  you  know  :  mre  about 
divine  things  than  any  other  man. 

Euth.  Well,  that  is  true,  Socrates. 


78 


TRI  AL  AND  DEATH  OP  S'  *ORA  I  PS. 


Socr.  Then  tell  me,  t  beseech  you,  what  is  that  grand 
result  which  the  gods  use  o  .r  services  to  produce? 

Euth.  The  results  are  runny  and  noble,  Socrates. 

Socr.  So  are  those,  my  dear  sir,  which  a  general  pro¬ 
duces.  Yet  it  is  easy  to  see  that  the  crowning  result  of 
them  all  is  victory  in  war,  is  it  not? 

Euth.  Of  course. 

Socr.  And,  t  take  it,  the  husbandman  produces  many 
fine  results;  yet  the  crowning  result  of  them  all  is  that 
he  makes  the  earth  produce  food. 

Euth,.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Well,  then,  what  is  the  crowning  one  of  the  many 
and  noble  results  which  the  gods  produce? 

Euth.  I  told  you  just  now,  Socrates,  that  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  learn  the  exact  truth  in  all  these  matters.  How¬ 
ever.  broadly  I  say  this:  if  any  man  km  ws  that  his  words 
and  deeds  in  prayer  and  sacrifice  are  acceptable  to  the 
gods,  that  is  what  is  holy:  that  preserves  the  common 
weal,  as  it  does  private  households,  from  evil;  but  the 
opposite  of  what  is  acceptable  to  the  gods  is  impious,  and 
tins  it  is  that  brings  ruin  and  destruction  on  all  things. 

Socr.  Certainly,  Euthvphron,  if  you  had  wished,  you 
could  have  answered  my  main  question  in  far  fewer  words. 
But  you  are  evidently  not  anxious  to  instruct  me:  just 
now,  when  you  were  just  on  the  point  of  telling  rue  what 
I  want  to  know,  you  stopped  short.  If  you  had  gone  on 
then,  I  should  have  learnt  from  you  clearly  enough  by  this 
time  what  is  holiness.  But  now  I  am  asking  you  ques¬ 
tions,  and  must  follow  wherever  you  lead  me;  so  tell  me, 
what  is  it  that  you  mean  ly  the  holy  and  holiness?  I)o 
you  not  mean  a  science  of  jrrayer  and  sacrifice? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  To  sacrifice  is  to  give  to  the  gods,  and  to  pray 
is  to  ask  of  them,  is  it  not  ? 

Euth.  It  is,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Then  you  say  that  holiness  is  the  science  of  asking 
of  the  gods,  and  giving  to  them  ? 

Euth.  You  understand  my  meaning  exactly,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Yes,  for  I  am  eager  to  share  your  wisdom,  lathy 


EUTHYPHRON. 


79 

phron,  and  so  I  am  all  attention:  nothing  that  you  say 
will  fall  to  the  ground.  But  tell  me,  what  is  this  service 
of  the  gods?  You  say  it  is  to  ask  of  them,  and  to  give 
to  them  ? 

Euth.  I  do. 

Socr.  Then,  to  ask  rightly  will  be  to  ask  of  them  what 
we  stand  in  need  of  from  them,  will  it  not? 

Euth.  Naturally. 

Socr.  And  to  give  rightly  will  be  to  give  back  to  them 
what  they  stand  in  need  of  from  us  ?  It  would  not  be  very 
clever  to  make  a  present  to  a  man  of  something  that  he  has 
no  need  of. 

Euth.  True,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Then,  holiness,  Euthyphron,  will  be  an  art  of 
traffic  between  gods  and  men? 

Euth.  Yes,  if  you  like  to  call  it  so. 

Socr.  Nay,  I  like  nothing  but  whaf  is  true.  But  tell 
me,  how  are  the  gods  benefited  by  the  gifts  which  they  re¬ 
ceive  from  us  ?  What  they  give  us  is  plain  enough.  Every 
good  thing  that  we  have  is  their  gift.  But  how  are  they 
benefited  by  what  we  give  them?  Have  we  the  advantage 
over  the_mimtlns  traffic  so  much  that  we  receive  from  them 
all  the  good  things  we  possess  and  give  them.. nothing  in 
return  ? 

Euth.  But  do  you  suppose,  Socrates,  that  the  gods  are 
benefited  by  the  gifts  which  they  receive  from  us  ? 

Socr.  But  what  are  these  gifts,  Euthyphron,  that  we  give 
the  gods? 

Euth.  What  do  you  think  but  honor,  and  homage,  and, 
as  I  have  said,  what  is  acceptable  to  them. 

Socr.  Then  holiness,  Euthyphron,  is  acceptable  to  the 
gods,  but  it  is  not  profitable,  nor  dear  to  them? 

Euth.  I  think  that  nothing  is  dearer  to  them. 

Socr.  Then  I  see  that  holiness  means  that  which  is  dear 
to  the  gods. 

Euth.  Most  certainly. 

Socr.  After  that,  shall  you  be  surprised  to  find  that  your 
definitions  move  about,  instead  of  staying  where  you  place 
them  ?  Shall  you  charge  me  with  being  the  Daedalus  that 


80 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


makes  tliem  move,  when  )fou  yourself  are  far  more  skilful 
than  Daedalus  was,  and  make  them  go  round  in  a  circle? 
Do  you  not  see  that  our  definition  has  come  round  to 
where  it  was  befote?  Surely  you  remember  that  we  have 
already  seen  that  holiness,  and  what  is  pleasing  to  the  gods, 
are  quite  different  things.  Do  you  not  remember? 

Eutli.  I  do. 

Socr.  And  now  do  you  not  see  that  you  say  that  what 
the  gods  love  is  holy  ?  But  does  not  what  the  gods  love 
come  to  the  same  thing  as  what  is  pleasing  to  the  gods? 

Euth.  Certainly. 

Socr.  Then  either  our  former  conclusion  was  wrong,  or, 
if  that  was  right,  we  are  wrong  now. 

Euth.  So  it  seems. 

Soc.  Then  we  must  begin  again,  and  inquire  what  is 
holiness.  I  do  not  mean  to  give  in  until  I  have  found  out. 
Do  not  deem  me  unworthy;  give  your  whole  mind  to  the 
question,  and  this  time  tell  me  the  truth.  For  if  any  one 
knows  it,  it  is  you ;  and  you  are  a  Proteus-whonT  I  must 
not  let  go  until  you  have  told  me.  It  cannot  be  that  you 
would  ever  have  undertaken  to  prosecute  your  aged  father 
for  the  murder  of  a  laboring  man  unless  you  had  known 
exactly  what  is  holiness  and  unholiness.  You  would  have 
feared  to  risk  the  anger  of  the  gods,  in  case  you  should 
be  doing  wrong,  and  you  would  have  been  afraid  of  what 
men  would  say.  But  now  1  am  sure  that  you  think  that 
you  know  exactly  what  is  holiness  and  what  is  not:  so  tell 
me,  my  excellent  Euthyphron,  and  do  not  conceal  from  me 
what  you  hold  it  to  be. 

Euth.  Another  time,  then,  Socrates.  I  am  in  a  hurry 
now,  and  it  is  time  for  me  to  be  off. 

Soc.  What  are  you  doing,  my  friend  ?  Will  you  go  away 
and  destroy  all  my  hopes  of  learning  from  you  what  is 
holy  and  what  is  not,  and  so  of  escaping  Meletus?  I 
meant  to  explain  to  him  that  now  Euthyphron  has  made 
me  wise  about  divine  things,  and  that  I  no  longer  in  my 
ignorance  speak  rashly  about  them  or  introduce  novelties 
in  them ;  and  then  I  was  going  to  promise  him  to  live  a 
better  life  for  the  future. 


THE  APOLOGY. 


CHARACTER. 


Socrates. 

Meletus. 


Scene. — The  Court  of  Justice. 


THE  APOLOGY. 


Socr.  I  cannot  tell  what  impression  my  accusers  have 
have  made  upon  you,  Athenians :  for  my  own  part,  I  know 
that  they  nearly  made  me  forget  who  I  was,  so  plausible 
were  they;  and  yet  they  have  scarcely  uttered  one  single 
word  of  truth.  But  of  all  their  many  falsehoods,  the  one 
whichTastonished  me  most,  was  when  they  said  that  I  was 
a  clever  speaker^  and  that  you  must  be  careful  not  to  let 
me  hhi.sleild-y.6n.  I  thought  that  it  was  most  impudent 
of  them  not  to  be  ashamed  to  talk  in  that  way ;  for  as  soon 
as  I  open  my  mouth  the  lie  will  be  exposed,  and  I  shall 
prove  that  I  am  not  a  clever  speaker  in  any  way._at_a.ll-t- 
unless,  indeed,  by  a  clever  speaker  they  mean  a  man  who 
speaks  the  truth.  If  that  is  their  meaning,  I  agree  with 
them  that  I  am  a  much  greater  orator  than  they.  Mv 
accusers,  then  I  repeat,  have  said  little  or  nothings  that  is_ 

true-;  but  from  me  you  shall  hear  the  whole  truth.  Cer- 

tamly  you  wTTT hofTTSar^rff  elaboraf e  speech,  Athenians, 
dressed  up,  like  theirs,  with  words  and  phrases.  I  will  say 
to  you  what  I  have  to  say,  without  preparation,  and  in  the 
words  which  come  first,  for  I  believe  that  my  cause  is 
just;  so  let  none  of  you  expect  anything  else.  Indeed, 
my  friends,  it  would  hardly  be  seemly  for  me,  at  my  age, 
to  come  before  you  like  a  young  man  with  his  specious 
falsehoods.  But  there  is  one  thing,  Athenians,  which  I  do 
most  earnestly  beg  and  entreat  of  you.  Do  not  be  sur-’ 
prised  and  do  not  intrrupt,  if  in  my  defense  I  speak  in 
the  same  way  that  I  am  accustomed  to  speak  in  the  market- 

83 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


84 


place,  at  the  tables  of  the  money-changers,  where  many 
of  you  have  heard  me,  and  elsewhere.  The  truth  is  this, 
I  am  more  than  seventy  years  old,  and  this  is  the  first 
time  that  1  have  ever  come  before  a  Court  of  Law ;  so  your 
manner  of  speech  here  is  quite  strange  to  me.  If  I  had 
been  really  a  stranger,  you  would  have  forgiven  me  for 
speaking  in  the  language  and  the  fashion  of  my  native 
country:  and  so  now  1  ask  you  to  grant  me  what  I  think 
I  have  a  right  to  claim.  Never  mind  the  style  of  my 
speech — it  may  be  better  or  it  may  be  worse — give  your 
whole  attention  to  the  question,  Is  what  I  say  just,  or  is 
it  not?  That  is  what  makes  a  good  judge,  as  speaking  the 
truth  makes  a  good  advocate. 

I  have  to  defend  myself,  Athenians,  first  against  the  old 
false  charges  of  my  old  accusers,  and  then  against  the 
later  ones  of  my  present  accusers.  For  many  men  have 
been  accusing  me  to  you,  and  for  very  many  years,  who 
have  not  uttered  a  word  of  truth :  and  I  fear  them  more 
than  I  fear  Anytus  and  his  companions,  formidable  as 
they  are.  But,  my  friends,  those  others  are  still  more 
formidable;  for  they  got  hold  of  most  of  you  when  you 
were  children,  and  they  have  been  more  persistent  in  accus¬ 


ing  me  with  lies,  and  in  trying  to  persuade  you  that  there 
is  one  Socrates,  a  wise  man,  who  speculates  about  the' 
heavens,  and  who  examines  into  all  things  that  are  beneath 
the  earth,  and  who  can  “make  the  worse  appear  theBetter 
'reason.”  These  men,  Athenians,  who  spread  abroad  this 
report,  are  the  accusers  whom  I  fear;  for  their  hearers 
think  that  persons  who  pursue  such  inquiries  never  believe 
in  the  gods.  And  then  they  are  many,  and  their  attacks 
have  been  going  on  for  a  long  time:  and  they  spoke  to  you. 
when  you  were  at  the  age  most  readily  to  believe  them: 
for  you  were  all  young,  and  many  of  you  were  children: 
and  there  was  no  one  to  answer  them  when  they  attacked 
me.  And  the  most  unreasonable  thing  of  all  is  that 
commonly  I  do  not  even  know  their  names:  I  cannot  tell 
you-  who  they  are,  except  in  the  case  of  the  comic  poets. 
But  all  the  rest  who  have  been  trying  to  prejudice  you 
against  me,  from  motives  of  spite  and  jealousy,  and  some- 


THE  APOLOGY. 


85 


times,  it  may  be,  from  conviction,  are  the  enemies  whom  it 
is  hardest  to  meet.  For  I  cannot  call  any  one  of  them 
forward  in  Court,  to  cross-examine  him :  I  have,  as  it  were, 
simply  to  fight  with  shadows  in  my  defense,  and  to  put 
questions  which  there  is  no  one  to  answer.  I  ask  you, 
therefore,  to  believe  that,  as  I  say,  I  have  been  attacked 
by  two  classes  of  accusers — first  by  Meletus  and  his  friends, 
ancTthen  bv  those^dldeF^ne^^T^1ro'm^''i'"JhaTe'"F5oR”en. 
Ana,  with  your  leave,  I  will  defend  myself  first  against 
my  old  enemies:  for  you  beard  their  accusations  first, 
and  they  were  much  more  persistent  than  my  present 
accusers  are. 

Well,  I  must  make  my  defense,  Athenians,  and  try  in  the 
short  time  allowed  me  to  remove  the  prejudice  which  you 
have  had  against  me  for  a  long  time.  I  hope  that  I  may 
manage  to  do  this,  if  it  bo  good  for  you  and  for  me,  and 
that  my  defense  may  be  successful;  but  I  am  quite  aware 
of  the  nature  of  my  task,  and  I  know  that  it  is  a  difficult 
one.  Be  the  issue,  however,  as  God  wills,  I  must  obey  the 
v;*‘  law,  and  make  my  defense. 

^  Let  us  begin  again,  then,  and  see  what  is  the  charge 
which  has  given  rise  to  the  prejudice  against  me,  which, 
was  what  Meletus  relied  on  when  he  drew  his  indictment. 
What  is  the  calumny  which  my  enemies  have  been  spread¬ 
ing  about  me?  I  must  assume  that  they  are  formally 
accusing  me,  and  read  their  indictment.  It  would  run_ 
somewhat  in  this  fashion :  “  Socrates  is  an  evil-doer,  who  : 
meddles  with  inquiries  into  things  beneath  the  earth,  and  1 
in  heaven,  and  who  ‘makes  the  worse  appear  the  better  j 
reason/  and  who  teaches  others  these  same  things?’  That 
is  what  they  say;  and  in  the  Comedy  of  Aristophanes^ 
you  yourselves  saw  a  man  called  Socrates  swinging  round 
in  a  basket,  and  saying  that  he  walked  the  air,  and  talking 
a  great  deal  of  nonsense  about  matters  of  which  I  under¬ 
stand  nothing,  either  more  or  less.  I  do  not  mean  to  . 
disparage  that  kind  of  knowledge,  if  there  is  any  man  who. 
possesses  it.  I  trust  Meletus  may  never  be  able  to  prosecute 
me  for  that.  But,  the  truth  is,  Athenians,  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  these  matters,  and  almost  all  of  you  are  your-> 


ot)  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

selves  my  witnesses  of  this.  I  beg  all  of  you  who  have 
ever  heard  me  converse,  and  they  are  many,  to  inform  your 
neighbors  and  tell  them  if  any  of  you  have  ever  heard  me 
conversing  about  such  matters,  either  more  or  less.  That 
will  show  you  that  the  other  common  stories  about  me  are 
as  false  as  this  one. 

But,  the  fact  is,  that  not  one  of  these  stories  is  true; 
and  if  you  have  heard  that  I  undertake  to  educate  men, 
and  exact  money  from  them  for  so  doing,  that  is  not  true  > 
either;  though  I  think  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be 
able  to  educate  men,  as  Gorgias  of  Leontini,  and  Prodicus 
of  Ceos,  and  Hippias  of  Elis  do.  For  each  of  them,  my 
friends,  can  go  into  any  city,  and  persuade  the  young  men 
to  leave  the  society  of  their  fellow-citizens,  wfith  any 
of  whom  they  might  associate  for  nothing,  and  to  be  only 
too  glad  to  be  allowed  to  pay  money  for  the  privilege  of 
associating  with  themselves.  And  I  believe  that  there  is 
another  wise  man  from  Paros  residing  in  Athens  at  this 
moment.  I  happened  to  meet  Callias,  the  son  of  Hipponi- 
cus,  a  man  who  has  spent  more  money  on  the  Sophists 
than  every  one  else  put  together.  So  I  said  to  him — he 
has  two  sons — Callias,  if  your  two  sons  had  been  foals  or 
calves,  we  could  have  hired  a  trainer  for  them  who  would 
have  made  them  perfect  in  the  excellence  which  belongs 
to  their  nature.  He  would  have  been  either  a  groom  or  a 
farmer.  But  whom  do  you  intend  to  take  to  train  them, 
seeing  that  they  are  men  ?  Who  understands  the  excellence 
which  belongs  to  men  and  to  citizens?  1  suppose  that  you 
must  have  thought  of  this,  because  of  your  sons.  Is  there 
such  a  person,  said  I,  or  not?  Certainly  there  is,  he  re¬ 
plied.  Who  is  he,  said  T,  and  where  does  he  come  from, 
and  what  is  his  fee?  His  name  is  Evenus,  Socrates,  he 
replied:  he  comes  from  Paros,  and  his  fee  is  five  minae. 
Then  I  thought  that  Evenus  was  a  fortunate  person  if  he 
really  understood  this  art  and  could  teach  so  cleverly.  If 
I  had  possessed  knowledge  of  that  kind.  I  should  have 
given  myself  airs  and  prided  myself  on  it.  But,  Athen¬ 
ians,  the  truth  is  that  I  do  not  possess  it. 

Perhaps  some  of  you  may  reply:  But,  Socrates,  what  is 


THE  APOLOGY. 


89 


this  pursuit  of  jours?  Whence  come  these  calumnies 
against  you?  You  must  have  been  engaged  in  some  pur¬ 
suit  out  of  the  common.  All  these  stories  and  reports 
of  you  would  never  have  gone  about,  if  you  had  not  been 
in  some  way  different  from  other  men.  So  tell  us  what 
your  pursuits  are,  that  we  may  not  give  our  verdict  in  the 
dark.  I  think  that  that  is  a  fair  question,  and  I  will  try 
to  explain  to  you  what  it  is  that  has  raised  these  calumnies 
against  me,  and  given  me  this  name.  Listen,  then:  some" 
of  you  perhaps  will  think  that  I  am  jesting;  but;  I  assure 
you  that  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth.  I  have  gained 
this  name,  Athenians,  sjmply  by  reason  of  a  certain  wis¬ 
dom.  But  by  what  kind  of  wisdom?  It  is.  by  just  that 
"wisclorii  which  is,  I  believe,  possible  to, men.  In  that,  it 
may  be,  I  am  really  wise.  But  the  men  of  whom  I  was 
speaking  just  now  must  be  wise  in  a  wisdom  which  is 
greater  than  human  wisdom,  or  in  some  way  which  I  cannot 
describe,  for  certainly  I  know  nothing  of  it  myself,  and 
if  any  man  says  that  I  do,  he  lies  and  wants  to  slander 
me.  Do  not  interrupt  me,  Athenians,  even  if  you  think 
that  I  am  speaking  arrogantly.  What  I  am  going  to  say 
is  not  my  ovtn:  I  will  tell  you  who  says  it,  and  he  is 
worthy  of  your  credit.  I  will  bring  the  god  of  Delphi 
to  be  the_jyifness  of  the  Yaet~o£  m:y-.  wisdom  and  of  its 
nature.  You  remember  H^haerephon.  JFrom  youth  up¬ 
wards  he  was  my  comrade ;  ancTHewent  into  exile  with  the 
people,  and  with  the  people  he  returned.  And  you  re¬ 
member,  too,  Chasrephon’s  character ;  how  vehement  he  was 
in  carrying  through  whatever  he  took  in  hand.  Dnee  he 
went  to  Delphi  and  ventured  to  put  this  question  to  the 
oracle, — I  entreat  you  again,  my  friends,  not  to  cry  out, — 
he  asked  if  there  was  any  man  whn_wj£_sasef-than  I :  and 
the  priestess  answered  that  there  was  no  man.  Chaere- 
phon  himself  is  dead,  but  his  brother  here  will  confirm 
what  I  say. 

Now  see  why  I  tell  you  this.  I  am  going  to  explain  to 
you  the  origin  of  my  unpopularity.  When  I  heard  of  the 
oracle  I  began  to  reflect :  What  can  God  mean  by  this 
dark  saying  ?  I  know  very  well  that  I  'am  not  wise,  even 


Ot) 

J  TllIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

in  the  smallest  degree.  Then  what  can  he  mean  by  saying 
that  I  am  the  wisest  of  men?  It  cannot  be  that  he  is 
speaking  falsely,  for  he  is  a  god  and  cannot  lie.  And  for 
a  long  time  I  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  his  meaning: 
then,  very  reluctantly,  1  turned  to  seek  for  it  in  this 
manner.  I  went  to  a  man  who  was  reputed  to  be  -wise, 
thinking  that  there,  if  anywhere,  I  should  prove  the  answer 
wrong,  and  meaning  to  point  out  to  the  oracle  its  mistake, 
and  to  say,  “You  said  that  I  was  the  wisest  of  men,  but 
this  man  is  wiser  than  I  am.”  So  I  examined  the  man — 

I  need  not  tell  you  his  name,  he  was  a  politician — but 
this  was  the  result,  Athenians.  When  I  conversed  with\ 
him  I  came  to  see  that,  though  a  great  many  persons,  and  \ 
most  of  all  he  himself,  thought  that  he  was  wise,  yet  he 
was  not  wise.  •  And  then  I  tried  to  prove  to  him  that 
he  was  not  vise,  though  he  fancied  that  he  was :  and  by  so 
doing  l  made  him,  and  many  of  the  bystanders,  my  en¬ 
emies.  So  when  I  went  away,  I  thought  to  myself,  “  I 
am  wiser  than  this  man :  neither,  of  us  probably- knows  a  ny- 
1  hi iv  that  is  really  good,  but  he  thinks  that  he  has  knowl¬ 
edge,  when  he  has  not,  while  I,  having  no  knowledge,  do 
not  thTnk  that  I  have,  I  seem,"  at  any  rate,  to  be  a  little 
wiser  than  he  is  on  this  point:  I  do  not  think,  that 
I  know  what  I  do  not  know.”  Next  I  went  to  anofher 
man  who  was  reputed  to  be  still  wiser  than  the  last,  with 
exactly  the  same  result.  .And  there  again  I  made  him, 
and  many  other  men,  my  enemies. 

Then  i  went  on  to  one  man  after  another,  seeing  .that- 1 
was  making  enemies  every  day,  which  caused  me  much 
unhappiness  and  anxiety:  still  T  thought  that  1  must  set 
God^s  command  above  everything.  So  I  had  to  go  to  every 
man  who  seemed  to  possess  any  knowledge,  and  search  for 
the  meaning  of  the  oracle :  and,  Athenians,  Imust  tell  you 
the  truth;  verily,  by  the  dog  of  Egypt,  this  was  the  result 
of  the  search  which  I  made  at  God’s  bidding.  I  found 
that  the  men,  whose  reputation  for,  wisdom  .hood  highest, 
were. nearly  the  most  lacking  in  it;  while  others,  who  ■were 
looked  down  on  as  comriion  people,  were  much  better  fitted 
to  learn.  Now,  1  must  describe  to  you  the  wanderings 


THE  APOLOGY. 


89 


which  I  undertook,  like  a  series  of  Heraclean  labors,  to 
make  full  proof  of  the  oracle.  -After  the  politicians,  I 
went  to  the  poets,  tragijcu-dithyrambic,  and  others,  thinking 
that  there  I  should  find  myself  manifestly  more  ignorant 
than  they.  So  I  took  up  the  poems  on  which  I  thought 
that  they  had  spent  most  pains,  and  asked  them  what  they 
meant,  hoping  at  the  same  time  to  learn  something  from 
them.  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  friends, 
but  I  must  say  it.  Almost  any  one  of  the  bystanders 
could  have  talked  aboufTtlre  works  of  these  poets  ,  better 
thahthe  poets  themselves.  So  I  soon  found  that  it  is  not 
by  wisdom  that  the  poets  create  their  works,  but  by  a  cer¬ 
tain  natural  power  and  by  inspiration,  like  soothsayers 
and  prophets,  who  say  many  fine  things,  but  who  under¬ 
stand  nothing  of  what  they  say.  The  poets  seemed  to  me 
to  be  in  a  similar  case.  And  at  the  same  time  I  perceived 
that,  because  of  their  poetry,  they  thought  that  they  were 
the  wisest  of  men  in  other  matters  too,  which  they  were' 
not.  So  I  went  away  again,  thinking  that  I  had  the  same 
advantage  over  the  poets  that  I  had  over  the  politicians. 

Finally,  I  went  to  the  artisans,  for  I  knew  very  well 
that  I  possesed  no  knowledge  at  all,  worth  speaking  of, 
and  I  was  sure  that  I  should  find  that  they  knew  many 
fine  things.  And  in  that  I  was  not  mistaken.  They  knew 
what  I  did  not  know,  and  so  far  they  were  wiser  than  I. 
But,  Athenians,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  skilled  artisans 
made  the  same  mistake  as  the  poets.  Each  of  them  be¬ 
lieved  himself  to  be  extremely  wise  in  matters  of  the  great¬ 
est  importance,  because  he  was  skilful  in  his  own  art :  and 
this"  mistake.' of  theirs  threw  their  real  wisdom  mto  the 
Shade.  So  I  asked  myself,  on  behalf  of  the  oracle,  whether 
I  would  choose  to  remain  as  I  was,  without  either  their 
wisdom  or  their  ignorance,  or  to  possess  both,  as  they  did. 
And  I  made  answer  to  myself  and  to  the  oracle  that  it  was 
better  for  me  to  remain  as  I  was. 

By  reason  of  this,  examination,  Athenians,  I  have  made 
many  enemies  of  a  very  fierce  and  bitter  kind,  who  have 
spread  abroad  a  great  number  of  calumnies  about  me,  and 
people  say  that  I  am  “  a  wise  man.”  For  the  bystanders 


90 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


always  think  that  I  am  wise  myself  in  any  matter  wherein 
[  convict  another  man  of  ignorance.  But,  my  friends, 
'»•••.  ih-il  f " \  1  y  God  really  wise.:  and  Ibat  l.y 
.  oracle  he  meant  that  men’s  wisdom  is  worth  little  or 
:  rtiin^T  l  do  not  think -tbqt  >|f>  ippqnl  that  .Socrates  was 
sc.  He  only  made  use  of  my  name,  and  took  me  as  an 
example,  as  though  he  would  say  to  men,  “  lie  among  you 
is  the  wisest,  who,  like  Socrates,  Knows  that  in  very 
truth  his  wisdom  i-  worth  nothing  at  all.”  And  therefore 
'  I  shall  go  about  te.-tin  and  examining  every  man  whom 
1  think  wise,  whether  he  he  a  citizen  or  a  stranger,  as 
God  has  commanded  me;  and  whenever  I  find  that  he  is 
not  wise,  1  point  out  to  him  on  the  part  of  God  that  he 
is  not  wise.  And  I  am  so  busy  in  this  pursuit  that  I  have 
never  had  leisure  to  take  any  part  worth  mentioning  in 
public  matters,  or  to  look  after  my  private  affairs.  I  am 
in  very  great  poverty  by  reason  of  my  service  to  God. 

,  And  besides  this,  the  young  men  who  follow  me  about, 
who  are  the  sons  of  wealthy  persons  and  have  a  great  deal 
of  spare  time,  take  a  natural  pleasure  in  hearing  men 
cross-examined :  and  they  often  imitate  me  among  them¬ 
selves  :  then  they  try  their  hands  at  cross-examining  other 
people.  And,  I  imagine,  they  find  a  great  abundance  of 
men  who  think  that  they  know  a  great  deal,  when  in  fact 
they  know  little  or  nothing.  And  then  the  persons  who 
are  cross-examined,  get  angry  with  me  instead  of  with 
themselves,  and  say  that  Socrates  is  an  abominable  fellow 
who  corrupts  young  men.  And  when  they  are  asked. 
Why,  what  does  he  do  ?  what  does  he  teach  ?  ”  they  do  not 
know  what  to  say ;  but,  not  to  seem  at  a  loss,  they  repeat 
the  stock  charges  against  all  philosophers,  and  allege  that 
he  investigates  things  in  the  air  and  under  the  earth,  and 
that  he  teaches  people  to  disbelieve  in  the  gods,  and  “  to 
make  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason.”  For,  I  fancy, 
they  jionld.Jiot  dike  to  confess  the  truth,  which  is  that  they 
are  shown  up  as  ignoranf  uretendexs  jto  knowledge  that 
they  do  not  possess.  ■  And  so  they  have  been  filling  your 
ears  with  their  ’Bitter'' calumnies  for  a  long  time,  for  they 
are  zealous  and  numerous  and  bitter  against^ me;  and  they 


THE  APOLOGY. 


are  well  disciplined  and  plausible  in  speech.  On  L 
grounds  Meletus  and  Anjbus  and  Lycon  have  attacked  mt 
Meletus  is  indignant  with  me  on  the  part  of  the  ppets,  ana 
Anytus  on  the  part  of  the  artisans  and  politicians,  and 
Lycon  on  the  part  of  the  oratojs.  And  so,  as  I  said  at  the 
beginning,  I  shall  be  surprised  if  I  am  able,  in  the  short 
time  allowed  me  for  my  defense,  to  remove  from  your 
minds  this  prejudice  which  has  grown  so  strong.  What 
I  have  told  you,  Athenians,  is  the  truth :  I  neither  conceal, 
nor  do  I  suppress  anything,  small  or  great.  And  yet  I 
know  that  it  is  just  this  plainness  of  speech  which  makes 
me  enemies.  But  that  is  only  a  proof  that  my  words  are 
true,  and  that  the  prejudice  against  me,  and  the  causes 
of  it,  are  what  I  have  said.  And  whether  you  look  for 
them  now  or  hereafter,  you  will  find  that  they  are  so. 

What  I  have  said  must  suffice  as  my  defense  against 
the  charges  of  my  accusers.  I  will  try  next  to  defend 
myself  against  that  “  good  patriot  ”  Meletus,  as  he  calls 
himself,  and  my  later  accusers.  Let  us  assume  that  they 
are  a  new  set  of  accusers,  and  read  their  indictment,  as 
we  did  in  the  case  of  the  others.  It  runs  thus.  He  says- 
that  Socrates  is  an  evil-doer  who  corrupts  the  youth, "and 
who  does  not  believe  in  the  gods  whom  the  city  believes  in, 
but  in  other  new  divinities.  Such  is  the  charge.  Let  us 
examine  each  point  in  it  separately.  Meletus  says  that  I 
do  wrong  by  corrupting  the  youth:  but  I  say,  Athenians, 
that  he  is  doing  wrong ;  for  he  is  playing  off  a  solemn  jest 
lry.br ingin g  men  lightly  to  trial,  and  pretending  to.  ha.ve 
a  great  zeal  and  interest  in  matters  to  which  he  has  never 
given  a  moment’s  thought.  And  now  I  will  try  to  prove 
to  you  that  it  is  so. 

Come  here,  Meletus.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  you  think  it 
very  important  that  the  younger  men  should  be  as  excellent 
as  possible? 

Meletus.  It  is. 

Socrates.  Come  then :  tell  the  judges,  who  is  it  who  im¬ 
proves  them?  You  take  so  much  interest  in  the  matter 
that  of  course  you  know  that.  You  are  accusing  me,  and 
bringing  me  to  trial,  because,  as  you  say,  you  have  dis- 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


red  that  I  am  the  corrupter  of  the  youth.  Come  now, 

real  to  the  judges  who  improves  them.  You  see,  Mele¬ 
tus,  you  have  nothing  to  say;  you  are  silent.  But  don’t 
you  think  that  this  is  a  scandalous  thing?  Is  not  your 
silence  a  conclusive  proof  of  what  I  say,  that  you  have 
never  given  a  moment’s  thought  to  the  matter?  Come, 
tell  us,  my  good  sir,  who  makes  the  young  men  better  citi¬ 
zens? 

Mel.  The  laws. 

Socr.  My  excellent  sir,  that  is  not  my  question.  What 
man  improves  the  young,  who  starts  with  a  knowledge  of  the 
laws? 

Mel.  The  judges  here,  Socrates. 

Socr.  What  do  you  mean,  Meletus?  Can  they  educate 
the  young  and  improve  them? 

Mel.  Certainly. 

Socr.  All  of  them?  or  only  some  of  them? 

Mel.  All  of  them. 

Socr.  By  Here,  that  is  good  news !  There  is  a  great 
abundance  of  benefactors.  And  do  the  listeners  here  im¬ 
prove  them,  or  not? 

Mel.  They  do. 

Socr.  And  do  the  senators? 

Mel.  Yes. 

Socr.  Well  then,  Meletus;  do  the  members  of  the  assem¬ 
bly  corrupt  the  younger  men  ?  or  do  they  again  all  improve 
them? 

Mel.  They  too  improve  them. 

Socr.  Then  all  the  Athenians,  apparently,  make  the 
young  into  fine  fellows  except  me,  and  I  alone  corrupt 
them.  Is  that  your  meaning? 

Mel.  Most  certainly;  that  is  my  meaning. 

Socr.  You  have  discovered  me  to  be  a  most  unfortunate 
man.  Mow  tell  me:  do  you  think  that  the  same  holds 
good  in  the  ease  of  horses  ?  Does  one  man  do  them  harm 
and  every  one  else  improve  them?  On  the  contrary,  is 
it  not  one  man  only,  or  a  very  few — namely,  those  who 
are  skilled  in  horses — who  can  improve  them ;  while  the 
majority  of  men  harm  them,  if  they  use  them,  and  have 


THE  APOLOGY. 


■  43 

93 


to  do  with  them?  Is  it  not  so,  Meletus,  both  with  horses 
and  with  every  other  animal?  Of  course  it  is,  whether 
you  and  Anytus  say  yes  or  no.  And  young  men  would 
certainly  be  very  fortunate  persons  if  only  one  man  cor¬ 
rupted  them,  and  every  one  else  did  them  good.  The 
truth  is,  Meletus,  you  prove  conclusively  that  you  have 
never  thought  about  the  youth  in  your  life.  It  is  quite 
clear,  on  your  own  showing,  that  you  take  no  interest  at 
all  in  the  matters  about  which  you  are  prosecuting  me. 

Now,  be  so  good  as  to  tell  us,  Meletus,  is  it  better  to  live 
among  good  citizens  or  bad  ones  ?  Answer,  my  friend :  I 
am  not  asking  you  at  all  a  difficult  question.  Do  not  bad 
citizens  do  harm  to  their  neighbors  and  good  citizens  good  ? 

Mel.  Yes. 

Socr.  Is  there  any  man  who  would  rather  be  injured 
than  benefited  by  his  companions?  Answer,  my  good  sir: 
you  are  obliged  by  the  law  to  answer.  Does  any  one  like 
to  be  injured  ? 

Mel.  Certainly  not. 

Socr.  Well  then;  are  you  prosecuting  me  for  corrupting 
the  young,  and  making  them  worse  men,  intentionally  or 
unintentionally  ? 

Mel.  For  doing  it  intentionally. 

Socr.  What,  Meletus?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you, 
who  are  so  much  younger  than  I,  are  yet  so  much  wiser 
than  I,  that  you  know  that  bad  citizens  always  do  evil,  and 
that  good  citizens  always  do  good,  to  those  with  whom 
they  come  in  contact,  while  I  am  so  extraordinarily  stupid 
as  not  to  know  that  if  I  make  any  of  my  companions  a 
rogue,  he  will  probably  injure  me  in  some  way,  and  as 
to  commit  this  great  crime,  as  you  allege,  intentionally? 
You  will  not  make  me  believe  that,  nor  any  one  else  either, 

I  should  think.  Either  I  do  not  corrupt  the  young  at 
all ;  or  if  I  do,  I  do  so  unintentionally :  so  that  you  are 
a  liar  in  either  case.  And  if  I  corrupt  them  uninten-  - 
tionally,  the  law  does  not  call  upon  you  to  prosecute  me 
for  a  fault  like  that,  which  is  an  involuntary  one:  you 
should  take  me  aside  and  admonish  and  instruct  me:  for 
of  course  I  shall  cease  from  doing  wrong  involuntarily, 


94 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


as  soon  as  I  know  that  1  have  been  doing  wrong.  But 
you  declined  to  instruct  me  :jyun.-wott4d-hayepnothing  to  do 
with  me:  instead  of  that,  you  bring_mc_  up~ before  the 
Court,  where  fhe  law  sends  persons,  not  for  instruction, 
but  for  punishment. 

The  truth  is,  Athenians,  as  I  said,  it  is  quite  clear  that 
Meletus  has  never  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  these 
matters.  However,  now  tell  us,  Meletus,  how  do  you  say 
that  I  corrupt  the  younger  men?  Clearly,  according  to 
your  indictment,  by  teaching  them  not  to  believe  in  the 
gods  of  the  city,  but  in  other  new  divinities  instead.  You 
mean  that  I  corrupt  young  men  by  that  teaching,  do  you 
not? 

Mel.  Yes:  most  certainly;  I  mean  that. 

Socr.  Then  in  the  name  of  these  gods  of  whom  we  are 
speaking,  explain  yourself  a  little  more  clearly  to  me  and 
to  the  judges  here.  I  canuot  understand  what  you  mean. 
Do  you  mean  that  I*  teach  young  men  to  believe  in  some 
gods,  but  not  in  the  gods  of  the  city?  Do  you  accuse  me 
of  teaching  them  to  believe  in  strange  gods?  If  that  is 
your  meaning,  I  myself  believe  in  some  gods,  and  my 
crime  is  not  that  of  absolute  atheism.  Or  do  you  mean 
that  I  do  not  believe  in  the  gods  at  all  myself,  and  that  I 
teach  other  people  not  to  believe  in  them  either? 

Mel.  I  mean  that  you  do  not  believe  in  the  gods  in  any 
way  whatever. 

Socr.  Wonderful  Meletus!  Why  do  you  say  that?  Do 
you  mean  that  I  believe  neither  the  sun  nor  the  moon  to  be 
gods,  like  other  men? 

Mel.  I  swear  he  does  not,  judges:  he  says  that  the  sun 
is  a  stone,  and  the  moon  earth. 

Socr.  My  dear  Meletus,  do  jrou  think  that  you  are  prose¬ 
cuting  Anaxagoras?  You  must  have  a  very  poor  opinion 
of  the  judges,  and  think  them  very  unlettered  men,  if  you 
imagine  that  they  do  not  know  that  the  works  of  Anax¬ 
agoras  of  Clazomenae  are  full  of  these  doctrines.  And  so 
young  men  learn  these  things  from  me,  when  they  can 
often  buy  places  in  the  theater  for  a  drachma  at  most, 
and  laugh  Socrates  to  scorn,  were  he  to  pretend  that  these 


THE  APOLOGY. 


9n 


doctrines,  which  are  very  peculiar  doctrines  too,  were  his. 
But  please  tell  me,  do  you  really  think  that  I  do  not  be¬ 
lieve  in  the  gods  at  all  ? 

Mel.  Most  certainly  I  do.  You  are  a  complete-atheist. 

Socr.jX o  one  believes  that,  Meletus,  and  I  think  that 
you  know  it  to  be  a  lie  yourself.  It  seems  to  me,  Athenians, 
that  Meletus  is  a  very  insolent  and  wanton  man,  and  that 
he  is  prosecuting  me  simply  in  the  insolence  and  wanton¬ 
ness  of  youth.  He  is  like  a  man  trying  an  experiment  on 
me,  by  asking  me  a  riddle  that  has  no  answer.  “  Will  this 
wise  Socrates,”  he  says  to  himself,  “  see  that  I  am  jesting 
and  contradicting  myself  ?  or  shall  I  outwit  him  and  every 
one  else  who  hears  me  ?  ”  Meletus  seems  to  me  to  contra¬ 
dict  himself  in  his  indictment :  it  is  as  if  he  were  to  say, 
“  Socrates  is  a  wicked  man  who  does  not  believe  in  the 
gods,  but  who  believes  in  the  gods.”  But  that  is  mere 
trifling. 

Now,  my  friends,  let  us  see  why  I  think  that  this  is  his 
meaning.  Do  you  answer  me,  Meletus:  and  do  you, 
Athenians,  remember  the  request  which  I  made  to  you  at 
starting,  and  do  not  interrupt  me  if  I  talk  in  my  usual 
way. 

Is  there  any  man,  Meletus,  who  believes  in  the  existence 
of  things  pertaining  to  men  and  not  in  the  existence  of 
men  ?  Make  him  answer  the  question,  my  friends,  without 
these  absurd  interruptions.  Is  there  any  man  who  believes 
in  the  existence  of  horsemanship  and  not  in  the  existence  of 
horses  ?  or  in  flute-playing  and  not  in  flute-players  ?  There 
is  not,  my  excellent  sir.  If  you  will  not  answer,  I  will  tell 
both  you  and  the  judges  that.  But  you  must  answer  my 
next  question.  Is  there  any  man  who  believes  in  the  exist¬ 
ence  of  divine  things  and  not  in  the  existence  of  divinities  ? 

Mel.  There  is  not. 

Socr.  I  am  very  glad  that  the  judges  have  managed  to 
extract  an  answer  from  you.  Well  then,  you  say  that  I 
believe  in  divine  beings,  -whether  they  be  old  or  new  ones, 
and  that  I  teach  others  to  believe  in  them ;  at  any  rate,  ac¬ 
cording  to  your  statement,  I  believe  in  divine  beings.  That 
you  have  sworn  in  your  deposition.  But  if  I  believe  in 


96  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

divine  beings,  I  suppose  it  follows  necessarily  that  I  be¬ 
lieve  in  divinities.  Is  it  not  so?  It  is.  I  assume  that  you 
grant  that,  as  you  do  not  answer.  But  do  we  not  believe 
that  divinities  are  either  gods  themselves  or  the  children  of 
the  gods  ?  I)o  you  admit  that  ? 

Mel.  I  do. 

Soar.  Then  you  admit  that  I  believe  in  divinities:  now.  if 
these  divinities  are  gods,  then,  as  I  say,  you  are  jesting  and 
asking  a  riddle,  and  asserting  that  I  do  not  believe  in  the 
gods,  and  at  the  same  time  that  I  do,  since  I  believe  in  di¬ 
vinities.  But  if  these  divinities  are  the  illegitimate  chil¬ 
dren  of  the  gods,  either  by  the  nymphs  or  by  other  mothers, 
as  they  are  said  to  be,  then,  I  ask,  what  man  could  believe 
in  the  existence  of  the  children  of  the  gods,  and  not  in  the 
existence  of  the  gods?  That  would  be  as  strange  as  be¬ 
lieving  in  the  existence  of  the  offspring  of  horses  and  asses, 
and  not  in  the  existence  of  horses  and  asses.  You  must 
have  indicted  me  in  this  manner,  Meletus,  either  to  test 
my  skill,  or  because  you  could  not  find  any  crime  that  you 
could  accuse  me  of  with  truth.  But  you  will  never  con¬ 
trive  to  persuade  any  man,  even  of  the  smallest  understand¬ 
ing,  that  a  belief  in  divine  things  and  Idlings  of  the  gods 
does  not  necessarily  involve  a  belief  in  divinities,  and  in 
the  gods,  and  in  heroes. 

But  in  truth,  Athenians,  I  do  not  think  that  I  need  say 
very  much  to  prove  that  I  have  not  committed  the  crime 
for  which  Meletus  is  prosecuting  me.  What  I  have  said  is 
enough  to  prove  that.  But,  I  repeat,  it  is_j^rtain]y:True, 
as  I  have  already  told  you,  that  I  have  incurred  much  un¬ 
popularity  and  made  many  enemies.  And  that  is  what  will 
cause  mv  condemnation,  if  I  am  condemned;  not  Meletus, 
nor  Anytus  either,  but  the  prejudice  and  suspicion  of  the 
multitude.  They  have  been  the  destruction  of  many  good 
men  before  me,  and  I  think  that  they  will  be  so  again. 
There  is  no  fear  that  I  shall  be  their  last  victim. 

Perhaps  some  one  will  say:  “Are  you  not  ashamed, 
Socrates,  of  following  pursuits  which  are  very  likely  now 
to  cause  your  death  ?  ”  I  should  answer  him  with  justice, 
and  say :  My  friend,  if  you  think  that  a  man  of  any 


THE  APOLOGY. 


9'< 


worth  at  all  ought  to  reckon  the  chances  of  life  and  death 
when  lie  acts,  or  that  he  ought  to  think  of  anything  but 
whether  he  is  acting  rightly  or  wrongly,  and  as  a  good  or 
a  bad  man  would  act,  you  are  grievously  mistaken.  Ac¬ 
cording  to  you,  the  demigods  who  died  at  Troy  would  be 
men  of  no  great  worth,  and  among  them  the  son  of  Thetis, 
who  thought  nothing  of  danger  when  the  alternative  was 
disgrace.  For  when  his  mother,  a  goddess,  addressed  him, 
as  he  was  burning  to  slay  Hector,  I  suppose  in  this  fashion, 
“  My  son,  if  thou  avengest  the  death  of  thy  comrade  Patro- 
clus.  and  slayest  Hector,  thou  wilt  die  thyself,  for  ‘  fate 
awaits  thee  straightway  after  Hector’s  death ;  ’  ”  he  heard 
what  she  said,  but  he  scorned  danger  and  death ;  he  feared 
much  more  to  live  a  coward,  and  not  to  avenge  his  friend. 
“  Let  me  punish  the  evil-doer  and  straightway  die,”  he 
said,  “  that  I  may  not  remain  here  by  the  beaked  ships,  a 
scorn  of  men,  encumbering  the  earth.”  Do  you  suppose 
that  he  thought  of  danger  or  of  death?  For  this,  Athen¬ 
ians,  I  believe  to  be  the  truth.  Wherever  a  man’s  post  is, 
whether  he  has  chosen  it  of  his  own  will,  or  whether  he 
has  been  placed  at  it  by  his  commander,  there  it  is  his  duty 
to  remain  and  face  the  danger,  without  thinking  of  death, 
or  of  any  other  thing,  except  dishonor. 

When  the  generals  whom  you  chose  to  command  me, 
Athenians,  placed  me  at  my  post  at  Potidsea,  and  at 
Amphipolis,  and  at  Delium,  I  remained  where  they  placed 
me,  and  ran  the  risk  of  death,  like  other  men:  and  it 
would  be  very  strange  conduct  on  my  part  if  I  were  to 
desert  my  post  now  from  fear  of  death  or  of  any  other 
thing,  when  God  has  commanded  me,  as  I  am  persuaded 
that  he  has  done,  to  spend  my  life  in  searching  for  wisdom, 
and  in  examining  myself  and  others.  That  would  indeed  be 
a  very  strange  thing:  and  then  certainly  I  might  with  jus¬ 
tice  be  brought  to  trial  for  not  believing  in  the  gods :  for  I 
should  be  disobeying  the  oracle,  and  fearing  death,  and 
thinking  myself  wise,  when  I  was  not  wise.  For  to  fear 
death,  my  friends, is  only.to  think  ourselves  wise,  without 
being  wfse:_for  it  is  to  think  that  we  know  what  we  do  not 
know.  For  anything  that  men  can  tell,  death  may  be  the 
_  .7. 


9$ 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


greatest  goq$  that  can  happen  to  them :  but  they  fear  it 
as  if  they  knew  quite  well  that  it  was  the  greatest  of  evils. 
And  what  is  this  but  that  shameful  ignorance  of  thinking 
that  we  know  what  we  do  not  know?  In  this  matter  too, 
my  friends,  perhaps  I  am  different  from  the  mass  of  man¬ 
kind  :  and  if  I  were  to  claim  to  be  at  all  wiser  than  others, 
it  would  be  because  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  any  clear 
knowledge  about  the  other  world,  when,  in  fact,  I  have 
none.  But  I  do  know  very  well  that  it  is  evil  and  base  to 
do  wrong,  and  to  disobey  my  superior,  whether  he  be  man 
or  god.  And  I  will  never  do  what  I  know  to  be  evil,  and 
shrink  in  fear  from  what,  for  all  that  I  can  tell,  may  be  a 
good.  And  so,  even  if  you  acquit  me  now,  and  do  not 
listen  to  Anytus’  argument  that,  if  I  am  to  be  acquitted,  I 
ought  never  to  have  been  brought  to  trial  at  all;  and  that, 
as  it  is,  you  are  bound  to  put  me  to  death,  because,  as  he 
said,  if  I  escape,  all  your  children  will  forthwith  be  utterly 
corrupted  by  practising  what  Socrates  teaches;  if  you  were 
therefore  to  say  to  me,  “  Socrates,  this  time  we  will  not 
listen  to  Anytus :  we  will  let  you  go ;  but  on  this  condition, 
that  7011  cease  from  carrying  on  this  search  of  yours,  and 
from  philosophy;  if  you  are  found  following  those  pursuits 
again,  you  shall  die:  ”  I  say,  if  you  offered  to  let  me  go 
on  these  terms,  I  should  reply : — “  Athenians,  I  hold  you 
in  the  highest  regard  and  love;  but  I  will  obey  God  rather 
than  you :  and  as  long  as  I  have  breath  and  strength  I  will 
not  cease  from  philosophy,  and  from  exhorting  you,  and 
declaring  the  truth  to  every  one  of  you  whom  I  meet,  say¬ 
ing,  as  I  am  wont,  ‘  My  excellent  friend,  you  are  a  citizen 
of  Athens,  a  city  which  is  very  great  and  very  famous  for 
wisdom  and  power  of  mind ;  are  you  not  ashamed  of  caring 
so  much  for  the  making  of  money,  and  for  reputation,  and 
for  honor?  Will  you  not  think. or  care  about  wisdom,  and 
truth,  and  the  perfection  of  your  soul  ?  ’  And  if  he  dis¬ 
putes  my  words,  and  says  that  he  does  care  about  these 
things,  I  shall  not  forthwith  release  him  and  go  away:  I 
shall  question  him  and  cross-examine  him  and  test  him : 
and  if  I  think  that  he  has  not  virtue,  though  he  says  that 
he  has,  I  shall  reproach  him  for  setting  the  lower  value  on 


THE  APOLOGY. 


99 


the  most  important  things,  and  a  higher  value  on  those  that 
are  of  less  account.  This  I  shall  do  to  every  one  whom  I 
meet,  young  or  old,  citizen  or  stranger :  but  more  especially 
to  the  citizens,  for  they  are  more  nearly  akin  to  me.  For,' 
know  well,  God  has  commanded  me  to  do  so.  And  I  think 
that  no  better  piece  of  fortune  has  ever  befallen  you.  in 
Athens  than  my  service  to  God.  For  I  spend  my  whole  x.  ee 
in  going  about  and  persuading  you  all  to  give  your  first  an 
chiefest  care  to  the  perfection  of  your  souls,  and  not  till 
you  have  done  that  to  think  of  your  bodies,  or  your  wealth ;  . 
and  telling  you  that  virtue  does  not  come  from  wealth,  but 
that  wealth,  and  every  other  good  thing  which  men  have,, 
whether  in  public,  or  in  private,  comes  from  virtue.  If  • 
then  I  corrupt  the  youth  by  this  teaching,  the  mischief  is 
great:  but  if  any  man  says  that  I  teach  anything  else,  he 
speaks  falsely.  And  therefore,  Athenians,-  I  say,  either 
listen  to  Anytus,  or  do  not  listen  to  him:  either  acquit  me, 
or  do  not  acquit  me :  but  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  alter  my 
way  of  life ;  no,  not  I  have  to  die  for  it  many  times. 

Do  not  interrupt  me,  Athenians.  Remember  the  request 
which  I  made  to  you,  and  listen  to  my  words.  I  think  that 
it  will  profit  you  to  hear  them.  I  am  going  to  say  some¬ 
thing  more  to  you,  at  which  you  may  be  inclined  to  cry 
out:  but  do  not  do  that.  Be  sure  that  if  you  put  me  to 
death,  who  am  what  I  have  told  you  that  I  am,  you  will  do 
yourselves  more  harm  than  me.  Meletus  and  Anytus  can 
do  me  no  harm :  that  is  impossible :  for  I  am  sure  that  God 
will  not  allow  a  good  man  to  be  injured  by  a  bad  one. 
They  may  indeed  kill  me,  or  drive  me  into  exile,  or  deprive 
me  of  my  civil  rights;  and  perhaps  Meletus  and  others 
think  those  things  great  evils.  But' I  do  not  think  so:  I 
think  that  it  is  a  much  greater  evil  to  do  what  he  is  doing 
now,  and  to  try  to  put  a  man  to  death  unjustly.  And  now, 
Athenians,  I  am  not  arguing  in  my  own  defense  at  all,  as 
you  might  expect  me  to  do :  I  am  trying  to  persuade  you  not 
to  sin  against  God,  by  condemning  me,  and  rejecting  his 
gift  to  you.  For  if  you  put  me  to  death,  you  will  not  easily 
find  another  man  to  fill  my  place.  God  has  sent  me  to  at¬ 
tack  the  city,  as  if  it  were  a  great  and  noble  horse,  to  use 


100 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


a  quaint  simile,  which  was  rather  sluggish  from  its  size,  and 
which  needed  to  be  aroused  by  a  gadfly :  and  I  think  that  I 
am  the  gadfly  that  God  has  sent  to  the  city  to  attack  it;  for 
1  never  cease  from  settling  upon  you,  as  it  were,  at  every 
point,  and  rousing,  and  exhorting,  and  reproaching  each 
man  of  you  all  day  long.  You  will  not  easily  find  any 
one  else,  my  friends,  to  fill  my  place:  and  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you  will  spare  my  life.  You  are  vexed,  as  drowsy 
persons  are,  when  they  are  awakened,  and  of  course,  if  you 
listened  to  Anytus,  you  could  easily  kill  me  with  a  single 
blow,  and  then  sleep  on  undisturbed  for  the  rest  of  your 
lives,  unless  God  were  to  care  for  you  enough  to  send  an¬ 
other  man  to  arouse  you.  And  you  may  easily  see  that  it 
is  God  who  has  given  me  to  your  city:  a  mere  human  im¬ 
pulse  would  never  have  led  me  to  neglect  all  my  own  in¬ 
terests,  or  to  endure  seeing  my  private  affairs  neglected  now 
for  so  many  years,  while  it  made  me  busy  myself  unceas¬ 
ingly  in  your  interests,  and  go  to  each  man  of  you  by  him¬ 
self,  like  a  father,  or  an  elder  brother,  trying  to  persuade 
him  to  care  for  virtue.  There  would  have  been  a  reason 
for  it,  if  I  had  gained  any  advantage  by  this  conduct,  or 
if  I  had  been  paid  for  my  exhortations ;  but  you  see  your¬ 
selves  that  my  accusers,  though  they  accuse  me  of  every¬ 
thing  else  without  blushing,  have  not  had  the  effrontery  to 
say  that  I  ever  either  exacted  or  demanded  payment.  They 
could  bring  no  evidence  of  that.  And  I  think  that  I  have 
sufficient  evidence  of  the  truth  of  what  I  say  in  my  poverty. 

Perhaps  it  may  seem  strange  to  you  that,  though  I  am  so 
busy  in  going  about  in  private  with  my  counsel,  yet  I  do 
not  venture  to  come  forward  in  the  assembly,  and  take 
part  in  the  public  councils.  You  have  often  heard  me 
speak  of  my  reason  for  this,  and  in  many  places:  it  is  that 
I  have  a  certain  divine  sign'from  God,  which  is  the  divin¬ 
ity  that  Meletus  has  caricatured  in  his  indictment.  I  have 
had  it  from  childhood:  it  is  a  kind  of  voice,  which  when¬ 
ever  I  hear  it,  always  turns  me  batfk  from  something  which 
I  was  going  to  do,  but  never  urges  me  to  act.  It  is  this 
which  forbids  me  to  take  part  in  politics.  And  I  think 
that  it  does  well  to  forbid  me.  For,  Athenians,  it  is  quite 


THE  APOLOGY. 


certain  that  if  I  had  attempted  to  take  pai 
should  have  perished  at  once  and  long  ago,  v 
any  good  either  to  you  or  to  myself.  And  do  n 
with  me  for  telling  the  truth.  There  is  no  man 
preserve  his  life  for  long,  either  in  Athens  or  else\> 
he  lirmly  opposes  the  wishes  of  the  people,  and  tries  , 
vent  the  commission  of  much  injustice  and  illegality  in 
State.  He  who  would  really  fight  for  justice,  must  do 
as  a  private  man,  not  in  public,  if  he  means  to  preserve  hi. 
life,  even  for  a  short  time. 

I  will  prove  to  you  that  this  is  so  by  very  strong  evidence, 
not  by  mere  words,  but  by  what  you  value  highly,  actions. 
Listen  then  to  what  has  happened  to  me,  that  you  may 
know  that  there  is  no  man  who  could  make  me  consent  to 
do  wrong  from  the  fear  of  death ;  but  that  I  would  perish 
at  once  rather  than  give  way.  What  I  am  going  to  tell  yon 
may  be  a  commonplace  in  the  Courts  of  Law;  nevertheless 
it  is  true.  The  only  office  that  I  ever  held  in  the  State, 
Athenians,  was  that  of  Senator.  When  you  wished  to  try 
the  ten  generals;-' who  did  not  rescue  their  men  after  the 
battle  of  Arginusse,  in  a  body,  which  was  illegal,  as  you  all 
came  to  think  afterwards,  the  tribe  Antiochis,  to  which  I 
belong,  held  the  presidency.  On  that  occasion  I  alone  of 
all  the  presidents  opposed  your  illegal  action,  and  gave 
mv  vote  against  you.  The  speakers  were  ready  to  suspend 
me  and  arrest  me ;  and  you  were  clamoring  against  me,  and 
crying  out  to  me  to  submit.  But  I  thought  that  I  ought  to 
face  the  danger  out  in  the  cause  of  law  and  justice,  rather 
than  join  with  you  in  your  unjust  proposal,  from  fear  of 
imprisonment  or  death.  That  was  before  the  destruction 
of  the  democracy.  When  the  oligarchy  came,  the  Thirty 
sent  for  me,  with  four  others,  to  the  Council-Chamber,1 
and  ordered  us  to  bring  over  Leon  the  Salaminian  from 
Salamis,  that  they  might  put  him  to  death.  They  were  in 
the  habit  of  frequently  giving  similar  orders  to  many 
others,  wishing  to  implicate  as  many  men  as  possible  in 
their  crimes.  But  then  I  again  proved,  not  by  mere  words, 
but  by  my  actions,  that,  if  I  may  use  a  vulgar  expression, 

1  A  building  where  the  Pry  tanes  had  their  meals  and  sacrificed* 


L  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


e  a  straw  for  death;  but  that  I  do  care  very 
ed  about  not  doing  anything  against  the  laws 
r  man.  That  government  with  all  its  power  did 
rify  me  into  doing  anything  wrong;  but  when  we 
ae  Council-Chamber,  the  other  four  went  over  to 
mis,  and  brought  Leon  across  to  Athens;  and  I  went 
.ay  home:  and  if  the  rule  of  the  Thirty  had  not  been  de- 
Troyed  soon  afterwards,  1  should  very  likely  have  been  put 
to  death  for  what  I  did  then.  Many  of  you  will  be  my 
witnesses  in  this  matter. 

Now  do  you  think  that  I  should  have  remained  alive 
all  these  }Tears,  if  I  had  taken  part  in  public  affairs,  and  had 
always  maintained  the  cause  of  justice  like  an  honest  man, 
and  had  held  it  a  paramount  duty,  as  it  is,  to  do  so  ?  Cer¬ 
tainly  not,  Athenians,  nor  any  other  man  either.  But 
throughout  my  whole  life,  both  in  private,  and  in  public, 
whenever  I  have  had  to  take  part  in  public  affairs,  you  will 
find  that  1  have  never  yielded  a  single  point  in  a  question 
of  right  and  wrong  to  any  man ;  no,  not  to  those  whom  my 
enemies  falsely  assert  to  have  been  my  pupils.  But  I  was 
never  any  man’s  teacher.  I  have  never  withheld  myself 
from  any  one,  young  or  old,  who  was  anxious  to  hear  me 
converse  while  I  was  about  my  mission;  neither  do  I  con¬ 
verse  for  payment,  and  refuse  to  converse  without  payment : 
I  am  ready  to  ask  questions  of  rich  and  poor  alike,  and  if 
any  man  wishes  to  answer  me,  and  then  listen  to  what  I 
have  to  say,  he  may.  And  I  cannot  justly  be  charged  with 
causing  these  men  to  turn  out  good  or  bad  citizens:  for 
I  never  either  taught,  or  professed  to  teach  any  of  them 
any  knowledge  whatever.  And  if  any  man  asserts  that  he 
ever  learnt  or  heard  anything  from  me  in  private,  which 
every  one  else  did  not  hear  as  well  as  he,  be  sure  that  he 
does  not  speak  the  truth. 

Why  is  it,  then,  that  people  delight  in  spending  so  much 
time  in  my  company?  You  have  heard  why,  Athenians. 
I  told  you  the  whole  truth  when  I  said  that  they  delight 
in  hearing  me  examine  persons  who  think  that  they  are 
wise  when  they  are  not  wise.  It  is  certainly  very  amusing 
to  listen  to  that.  And,  I  say,  God  has  commanded  me  to 


THE  APOLOGY. 


103 


examine  men  in  oracles,  and  in  dreams,  and  in  every  way  in 
which  the  divine  "will  was  ever  declared  to  man.  This  is 
the  truth,  Athenians,  and  if  it  were  not  the  truth,  it  would 
be  easily  refuted.  For  if  it  were  really  the  case  that  I  have 
already  corrupted  some  of  the  young  men,  and  am  now 
corrupting  others,  surely  some  of  them,  finding  as  they 
grew  older  that  I  had  given  them  evil  counsel  in  their 
youth,  would  have  come  forward  to-day  to  accuse  me  and 
take  their  revenge.  Or  if  they  were  unwilling  to  do  so 
themselves,  surely  their  kinsmen,  their  fathers,  or  brothers, 
or  other  relatives,  would,  if  I  had  done  them  any  harm, 
have  remembered  it,  and  taken  their  revenge.  Certainly  I 
see  many  of  them  in  Court.  Here  is  Crito,  of  my  own  deme 
and  of  my  own  age,  the  father  of  Critobolus;  here  is 
]  /ysanias  of  Sphettus,  the  father  of  iEschinus :  here  is  also 
Antiphon  of  Cephisus,  the  father  of  Epigenes.  Then  here 
are  others,  whose  brothers  have  spent  their  time  in  my  com¬ 
pany;  Nicostratus,  the  son  of  Theozotides,  and  brother 
of  Theodotus — and  Theodotus  is  dead,  so  he  at  least  cannot 
entreat  his  brother  to  be  silent :  here  is  Paralus,  the  son  of 
Demodocus,  and  the  brother  of  Theages:  here  is  Adei- 
mantus,  the  son  of  Ariston,  whose  brother  is  Flato  here: 
and  HCantodorus,  whose  brother  is  Aristodorus.  And  I  can 
name  many  others  to  you,  some  of  whom  Meletus  ought  to 
have  called  as  witnesses  in  the  course  of  his  own  speech: 
but  if  he  forgot  to  call  them  then,  let  him  call  them  now — 
I  will'  stand  aside  while  he  does  so — and  tell  us  if  he  has 
any  such  evidence.  No,  on  the  contrary,  my  friends,  you 
w  ill  find  all  these  men  ready  to  support  me,  the  corrupter, 
the  injurer  of  their  kindred,  as  Meletus  and  Anytus  call 
me.  Those  of  them  who  have  been  already  corrupted  might 
perhaps  have  some  reason  for  supporting  me:  but  what 
reason  can  their  relatives,  who  are  grown  up,  and  who  are 
uncorrupted,  have,  except  the  reason  of  truth  and  justice, 
that  they  know  very  well  that  Meletus  is  a  liar,  and  that 
I  am  speaking  the  truth  ? 

Well,  my  friends,  this,  together  it  may  be  with  other 
things  of  the  same  nature,  is  'pretty  much  what  I  have  to 
say  in  my  defense.  There  may  be  some  one  among  you 


104 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


who  will  he  vexed  when  he  remember?  how,  even  in  a  less 
important  trial  than  this,  he  prayed  and  entreated  the 
judges  to  acquit  him  with  many  tears,  and  brought  forward 
his  children  and  many  of  his  friends  and  relatives  in  Court, 
in  order  to  appeal  to  your  feelings;  and  then  finds  that  I 
shall  do  none  of  these  things,  though  I  am  in  what  he 
would  think  the  supreme  danger.  Perhaps  he  will  harden 
himself  against  me  when  he  notices  this:  it  may  make 
him  angry,  and  he  may  give  his  vote  in  anger.  If  it  is  so  t 
with  any  of  you — I  do  not  suppose  that  it  is,  but  in  case  it 
should  be  so— I  think  that  I  should  answer  him  reasonably 
if  I  said :  “  My  friend,  I  have  kinsmen  too,  for,  in  the 

words  of  Homer,  ‘  I  am  not  born  of  stocks  and  stones/  but 
of  woman ;  ”  and  so,  Athenians,  I  have  kinsmen,  and  I  have 
three  sons,  one  of  them  a  lad,  and  the  other  two  still  chil¬ 
dren.  Yet  I  will  not  bring  any  of  them  forward  before  you, 
and  implore  you  to  acquit  me.  And  why  will  I  do  none  of 
these  things?  It  is  not  from  arrogance,  Athenians,  nor 
because  I  hold  you  cheap :  whether  or  no  I  can  face  death 
bravely  is  another  question:  but  for  my  own  credit,  and 
for  your  credit,  and  for  the  credit  of  our  city,  I  do  not  , 
think  it  well,  at  my  age,  and  with  my  name,  to  do  anything 
of  that  kind.  Rightly  or  wrongly,  men  have  made  up  their 
minds  that  in  some  way  Socrates  is  different  from  the 
mass  of  mankind.  And'  it  will  be  a  shameful  thing  if 
those  of  you  who  are  thought  to  excel  in  wisdom,  or  in 
braver)’,  or  in  any  other  virtue,  are  going  to  act  in  this 
fashion.  I  have  often  seen  men  with  a  reputation  behaving 
in  a  strange  way  at  their  trial,  as  if  they  thought  it  a  terri¬ 
ble  fate  to  be  killed,  and  as  though  they  expected  to  live  for¬ 
ever,  if  you  did  not  put  them  to  death.  Such  men  seem  to 
me  to  bring  discredit  on  the  city:  for  any  stranger  would 
suppose  that  the  best  and  most  eminent  Athenians,  who 
are  selected  by  their  fellow-citizens  to  hold  office,  and  for 
other  honors,  are  no  better  than  women.  Those  of  you, 
Athenians,  who  have  any  reputation  at  all.  ought  not  to  do 
these  things:  and  you  ought  not  to  allow  us  to  do  them: 
you  should  show  that  you  will  be  much  more  merciless  to 
men  who  make  the  city  ridiculous  by  these  pitiful  pieces 
of  acting,  than  to  men  who  remain  quiet. 


THE  APOLOGY. 


105 


But  apart  from  the  question  of  credit,  my  friends,  I  do 
not  think  that  it  is  right  to  entreat  the  judge  to  acquit  us, 
or  to  escape  condemnation  in  that  way.  It  is  our  duty  to 
convince  his  mind  by  reason.  He  does  not  sit  to  give 
away  justice  to  his  friends,  but  to  pronounce  judgment: 
and  he  has  sworn  not  to  favor  any  man  whom  he  would 
like  to  favor,  but  to  decide  questions  according  to  law. 
And  therefore  we  ought  not  to  teach  you  to  forswear  your¬ 
selves  :  and  you  ought  not  to  allow  yourselves  to  be  taught, 
for  then  neither  you  nor  we  would  be  acting  righteously. 
Therefore,  Athenians,  do  not  require  me  to  do  these  things, 
for  I  believe  them  to  be  neither  good  nor  just  nor  holy ; 
and.  more  especially  do  not  ask  me  to  do  them  to-day, 
when  Meletus  is  prosecuting  me  for  impiety.  For  were  I 
to  be  successful,  and  to  prevail  on  you  by  my  prayers  to 
break  your  oaths,  I  should  be  clearly  teaching  you  to  be¬ 
lieve  that  there  are  no  gods ;  and  I  should  be  simply  accu¬ 
sing  myself  by  my  defense  of  not  believing  in  them.  But, 
Athenians,  that  is  very  far  from  the  truth.  I  do  believe 
in  the  gods  as  no  one  of  my  accusers  believes  in  them : 
and  to  you  and  to  God  I  commit  my  cause  to  be  decided  as 
is  best- for  you  and  for  me. 

( He  is  found  guilty  by  2S1  votes  to  220.) 

I  am  not  vexed  at  the  verdict  which  you  have  given, 
Athenians,  for  many  reasons.  I  expected  that,  you  would, 
find  me  guilty ;  and  I  am  not  so  much  surprised  at  that,  as 
at  the  numbers  of  the  votes.  I,  certainly,  never  thought 
that  the  majority  against  me  would  have  been  so  narrow. 
But  now  it  seems  that  if  only  thirty  votes  had  changed 
sides,  I  should  have  escaped.  So  I  think  that  I  have  es- 
saped  Meletus,  as  it  is :  and  not  only  have  I  escaped  him ; 
for  it  is  perfectly  clear  that  if  Anytus  and  Lycon  had  not 
come  forward  to  accuse  me  too,  he  would  not  have  obtained 
the  fifth  part  of  the  votes,  and  would  have  had  to  pay  a 
fine  of  a  thousand  drachmae.1 

1  Any  prosecutor  who  did  not  obtain  the  votes  of  one-fifth  of 
the  dicasts  or  judges,  incurred  a  fine  of  1,000  drachmae,  and  cer¬ 
tain  other  disabilities,  Cf,  Diet.  Antiq.  s.  v. 


106 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


So  he  proposes  death  as  the  penalty.  Be  it  so.  And 
what  counter-penalty  shall  I  propose  to  you,  Athenians? 
What  I  deserve,  of  course,  must  I  not?  What  then  do  I 
deserve  to  pay  or  to  suffer  for  having  determined  not  to 
spend  my  life  in  ease?  I  neglected  the  things  which  most 
men  value,  such  as  wealth,  and  family  interests,  and  mili¬ 
tary  commands,  and  popular  oratory,  and  all  the  political 
appointments,  and  clubs,  and  factions,  that  there  are  in 
Athens ;  for  I  thought  that  I  was  really  too  conscientious  a 
man  to  preserve  my  life  if  I  engaged  in  these  matters.  So 
1  did  not  go  where  I  should  have  done  no  good  either  to  you 
or  to  myself.  1  went  instead  to  each  one  of  you  by  himself, 
to  do  him,  as  I  say,  the  greatest  of  services,  and  strove  to 
persuade  him  not  to  think  of  bis  affairs,  until  he  had 
thought  of  himself,  and  tried  to  make  himself  as  perfect 
and  wise"  as  possible ;  nor  to  think  of  the  affairs  of  Athens, 
until  he  had  thought  of  Athens  herself ;  and  in  all  cases  to 
bestow  his  thoughts  on  things  in  the  same  manner.  Then 
what  do  I  deserve  for  such  a  life?  Something  good,  Athen¬ 
ians,  if  T  am  really  to  propose  what  I  deserve;  and  some¬ 
thing  good  which  it  would  be  suitable  to  me  to  receive. 
Then  what  is  a  suitable  reward  to  be  given  to  a  poor  bene¬ 
factor,  who  requires  leisure  to  exhort  you?  There  is  no 
reward,  Athenians,  so  suitable  for  him  as  a  public  main¬ 
tenance  in  the  Prytaneum.  It  is  a  much  more  suitable 
reward  for  him  than  for  any  of  you  who  has  won  a  victory 
at  the  Olympic  games  with  his  horse  or  his  chariots.  Such 
a  man  only  makes  you  seem  happy,  but  I  make  you  really 
happy:  and  he  is  not  in  want,  and  I  am.  So  if  I  am  to 
propose  the  penalty  which  I  really  deserve,  I  propose  this, 
a  public  maintenance  in  the  Prytaneum. 

Perhaps  you  think  me  stubborn  and  arrogant  in  what  I 
am  saying  now,  as  in  what  I  said  about  the  entreaties  and 
tears.  It  is  not  so,  Athenians;  it  is  rather  that  I  am  con¬ 
vinced  that  I  never  wronged  any  man  intentionally,  though 
I  cannot  persuade  you  of  that,  for  we  have  conversed  to¬ 
gether  only  a  little  time.  If  there  were  a  law  at  Athens, 
as  there  is  elsewhere,  not  to  finish  a  trial  of  life  and  death 
in  a  single  day,  I  think  that  I  could  have  convinced  you 


THE  APOLOGY. 


It 

of  it :  but  now  it  is  not  easy  in  so  short  a  time  to  clear  my¬ 
self  of  the  gross  calumnies  of  my  enemies.  But  when  I  am 
convinced  that  I  have  never  wronged  any  man,  I  shall  cer-  _ 
tainly  not  wrong  myself,  or  admit  that  I  deserve  to  suffer 
any  evil,  or  propose  any  evil  for  myself  as  a  penalty.  Why 
should  I  ?  Lest  I  should  suffer  the  penalty  which  Meletus 
proposes,  when  I  say  that  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  a 
good  or  an  evil?  Shall  I  choose  instead  of  it  something 
which  I  know  to  be  an  evil,  and  propose  that  as  a  penalty  ? 
Shall  I  propose  imprisonment?  And  why  should  I  pass 
the  rest  of  my  days  in  prison,  the  slave  of  successive  offi¬ 
cials?  Or  shall  I  propose  a  fine,  with  imprisonment  until 
it  is  paid?  I  have  told  you  why  I  will  not  do  that.  I 
should  have  to  remain  in  prison  for  I  have  no  money  to  pay 
a  fine  with.  Shall  I  then  propose  exile?  Perhaps  you 
would  agree  to  that.  Life  would  indeed  be  very  dear  to  ' 
me,  if  I  were  unreasonable  enough  to  expect  that  strangers  > 
would  cheerfully  tolerate  my  discussions  and  reasonings, 
when  you  who  are  my  fellow-citizens  cannot  endure  them,- 
and  have  found  them  so  burdensome  and  odious  to  you, 
that  you  are  seeking  now  to  be  released  from  them.  No, 
indeed,  Athenians,  that  is  not  likely.  A  fine  life  I  should’ 
lead  for  an  old  man,  if  I  were  to  withdraw  from  Athens, 
and  pass  the  rest  of  my  days  in  wandering  from  city  to , 
city,  and  continually  being  expelled.  For  I  know  very 
well  that  the  young  men  will  listen  to  me,  wherever  I  go, 
as  they  do  here;  and  if  I  drive  them  away,  they  will  per¬ 
suade  their  elders  to  expel  me :  and  if  I  do  not  drive  them 
away,  their  fathers  and  kinsmen  will  expel  me  for  their 
sakes. 

Perhaps  some  one  will  say,  “  Why  cannot  you  withdraw 
from  Athens,  Socrates,  and  hold  your  peace  ?  ”  It  is  the 
most  difficult  thing  in  the  world  to  make  you  understand 
why  I  cannot  do  that.  If  I  say  that  I  cannot  hold  my 
peace,  because  that  would  be  to  disobey  God,  you  will  think 
that  I  am  not  in  earnest  and  will  not  believe  me.  And  if  I 
tell  you  that  no  better  thing  can  happen  to  a  man  than  to 
converse  every  day  about  virtue  and  the  other  matters  about 
which  you  have  heard  me  conversing  and  examining  my- 


108 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


self  and  others,  and  that  an  unexamined  life  is  not  worth 
living,  then  you  will  believe  me  still  less.  But  that  is  the 
truth,  my  friends,  though  it  is  not  easy  to  convince  you  of 
it.  And,  what  is  more,  I  am  not  accustomed  to  think  that 
I  deserve  any  punishment.  If  I  had  been  rich,  I  would 
have  proposed  as  large  a  fine  as  I  could  pay:  that  would 
have  done  me  no  harm.  But  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  pay  a 
fine,  unless  you  are  willing  to  fix  it  at  a  sum  within  my 
means.  Perhaps  1  could  pay  you  a  mina:1  so  I  propose 
that.  Plato  here,  Athenians,  and  Crito,  and  Critobulus, 
and  Apollodorus  bid  me  propose  thirty  mime,  and  they  will 
be  sureties  for  me.  So  I  propose  thirty  minse.  They 
will  be  sufficient  sureties  to  you  for  the  money. 

( lie  is  condemned  to  death.) 

You  have  not  gained  very  much  time,  Athenians,  and, 
as  the  price  of  it,  you  will  have  an  evil  name  from  all  who 
wish  to  revile  the  city,  and  they  will  cast  in  your  teeth  that 
you  put  Socrates,  a  wise  man,  to  death.  For  they  will  cer¬ 
tainly  call  me  wise,  whether  I  am  wise  or  not,  when  they 
want  to  reproach  you.  If  you  would  have  waited  for  a 
little  while,  your  wishes  would  have  been  fulfilled  in  th<? 
course  of  nature ;  for  you  see  that  I  am  an  old  man,  far 
advanced  in  years,  and  near  to  death.  I  am  speaking  not 
to  all  of  you,  only  to  those  who  have  voted  for  my  death. 
And  now  I  am  speaking  to  them  still.  Perhaps,  my 
friends,  you  think  that  I  have,  been  defeated  because  I  was 
wanting  in  the  arguments  by  which  I  could  have  persuaded 
you  to  acquit  me,  if,  that  is,  I  had  thought  it  right  to  do 
or  to  say  anything  to  escape  punishment.  It  is  not  so.  I 
have  been  defeated  because  I  was  wanting,  not  in  argu¬ 
ments,  but  in  ovcrboldness  and  effrontery;  begause  I 
would  not  plead  before  you  as  you  would  have  liked  to 
hear  me  plead,  or  appeal  to  you  with  weeping  and  wailing, 
or  say  and  do  many  other  things,  which  1  maintain  are  un¬ 
worthy  of  me,  but  which  you  have  been  accustomed  to  from 
other  men.  But  when  I  was  defending  myself,  I  thought 

1  A  mina  was  equivalent  then  to  $  19.70, 


CRITO. 


CHARACTERS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 


Socrates. 

Crito. 

Scene. — The  prison  of  Socrates. 


CRITO. 


Socr.  Why  have  you  come  at  this  hour,  Crito?  Is  it 
not  still  early  ? 

Crito.  Yes,  very  early. 

Socr.  About  what  time  is  it  ? 

Crito.  It  is  just  daybreak. 

Socr.  I  wonder  that  the  jailer  was  willing  to  let  you  in. 

Crito.  He  knows  me  now,  Socrates,  I  come  here  so  often ; 
and  besides,  I  have  done  him  a  service. 

Socr.  Have  you  been  here  long? 

Crito.  Yes;  some  time. 

Socr.  Then  why  did  you  sit  down  without  speaking? 
why  did  you  not  wake  me  at  once  ? 

Crito.  Indeed,  Socrates,  I  wish  that  I  myself  were  not  so 
sleepless  and  sorrowful.  But  I  have  been  wondering  to 
see  how  sweetly  you  sleep.  And  I  purposely  did  not  wake 
you,  for  I  was  anxious  not  to  disturb  your  repose.  Often 
before,  all  through  your  life,  I  have  thought  that  your 
temper  was  a  happy  one;  and  I  think  so  more  than  ever 
now,  when  I  see  iiow  easily  and  'calmly  yoif  bear  the 
calamity  that  has  come  to  you. 

Socr.  Hay,  Crito,  it  would  be  absurd  if  at  my  age  I 
were  angry  at  having  to  die. 

Crito.  Other  men  as  old  are  overtaken  by  similar  calami-'1 
ties,  Socrates ;  but  their  age  does  not  save  them  from  being 
angry  with  their  fate. 

Socr.  That  is  so:  but  tell  me,  why  are  you  here  sq,  early? 

Crito.  I  am  the  bearer  of  bitter  news,  Socrates:  not  bit¬ 
ter,  it  seems,  to  you;  but  to  me,  and  to  all  your  friends, 

115 


,,JAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

jitter  and  grievous:  and  to  none  of  them,  I  think,  is 
v  more  grievous  than  to  me. 

Socr.  What  is  it?  Has  the  ship  come  from  Delos,  at 
the  arrival  of  which  I  am  to  die  ? 

Crito.  No,  it  has  not  actually  arrived:  but  I  think  that 
it  will  be  here  to-da}',  from  the  news  which  certain  persons 
have  brought  from  Sunium,  who  left  it  there.  It  is  clear 
from  their  news  that  it  will  be  here  to-day ;  and  then, 
Socrates,  to-morrow  your  life  will  have  to  end. 

Socr.  Well,  Crito,  may  it  end  fortunately.  Be  it  so,  if 
so  the  gods  will.  But  I  do  not  think  that  the  ship  will  be 
here  to-day. 

Crito.  Why  do  you  suppose  not? 

Socr.  I  will  tell  you.  I  am  to  die  on  the  day  after  the 
ship  arrives,  am  I  not? 

Crito.  That  is  what  the  authorities  say. 

Socr.  Then  I  do  not  think  that  it  will  come  to-day, 
but  to-morrow.  I  judge  from  a  certain  dream  which  I  saw 
a  little  while  ago  in  the  night:  so  it  seems  to  be  fortunate 
that  you  did  not  wake  me. 

Crito.  And  what  was  this  dream? 

Socr.  A  fair  and  comely  woman,  clad  in  white  garments, 
seemed  to  come  to  me,  and  call  me  and  say,  “  0  Socrates 
“  The  third  day  hence  shaft  thou  fair  Phthia  reach.”  1 

Crito.  What  a  strange  dream,  Socrates ! 

Socr.  But  its  meaning  is  clear;  at  least  to  me,  Crito. 

Crito.  Yes,  too  clear,  it  seems.  But,  0  my  good  Soc¬ 
rates,  I  beseech  you  for  the  last  time  to  listen  to  me  and 
save  yourself.  For  to  me  your  death  will  be  more  than  a 
single  disaster:  not  only  shall  I  lose  a  friend  the  like  of 
whom  I  shall  never  find  again,  but  many  persons,  who  do 
not  know  you  and  me  well,  will  think  that  I  might  have 
saved  you  if  I  had  been  willing  to  spend  money,  but  that 
I  neglected  to  do  so.  And  what  character  could  be  more 
disgraceful  than  the  character  of  caring  more  for  money 
than  for  one’s  friends  ?  The  world  will  never  believe  that 
we  were  anxious  to  save  you,  but  that  j'ou  yourself  refused 
to  escape. 


1  Horn.  II.  ix.  363. 


CRITO. 


117 


Socr.  But,  my  excellent  Crito,  why  should  we  care  so 
much  about  the  opinion  of  the  world?  The  best  men,  of 
whose  opinion  it  is  worth  our  while  to  think,  will  believe 
that  we  acted  as  we  really  did. 

Crito.  But  you  see,  Socrates,  that  it  is  necessary  to  care 
about  the  opinion  of  the  world  too.  This  very  thing  that 
has  happened  to  you  proves  that  the  multitude  can  do  a 
man  not  the  least,  but  almost  the  greatest  harm,  if  he  be 
falsely  accused  to  them. 

Son-.  I  wish  that  the  multitude  were  able  to  do  a  man 
the  greatest  harm,  Crito,  for  then  they  would  be  able  to 
do  him  the  greatest  good  too.  That  would  have  been  weli. 
But,  as  it  is,  they  can  do  neither.  They^caimat  .make  a 
man  either  wise  or  fQnli^h^the.y^ct^yh,QUy.-.a'Lj.andom, 

" Cnto .  Well,  be  it  so.  But  tell  me  this,  Socrates.  _  You 
surely  are  not  anxious  about  me  and  your  other  niends, 
and  afraid  lest,  if  you  escape,  the  informers  should  say  that 
we  stole  you  away,  and  get  us  into  trouble,  and  involve 
us  in  a  great  deal  of  expense,  or  perhaps  in  the  loss  of  all 
our  property,  and,  it  may  be,  bring  some  other  punish¬ 
ment  upon  us  besides?  If  you  have  any  fear  of  that  kind, 
dismiss  it.  For  of  course  we  are  bound  to  run  those  risks, 
and  still  greater  risks  than  those  if  necessary',  in  saving 
you.  So  do  not,  I  beseech  you,  refuse  to  listen  to  me. 

Socr.  I  am  anxious  about  that,  Crito,  and  about  much 
besides. 

Crito.  Then  have  no  fear  on  that  score.  There  are  men 
who,  for  no  very  large  sum,  are  ready  to  bring  you^  out  of 
prison  into  safety.  And  then,  you  know,  these  informers 
are  cheaply  bought,  and  there  would  be  no  need  to  spend 
much  upon  them.  My  fortune  is  at  your  service,  and  I 
think  that  it  is  sufficient :  and  if  you  have  any  feeling  about 
making  use  of  my  money,  there  are  strangers  in  Athens, 
whom,  you  know,  ready  to  use  theirs ;  and  one  of  them, 
Simmias  of  Thebes,  has  actually  brought  enough  for  this 
very  purpose.  And  Cebes  and  many  others  are  ready  too. 
And  therefore  I  repeat,  do  not  shrink  from  saving  your¬ 
self  on  that  ground.  And  do  not  let  what  you  said  in  the 
Court,  that  if  you  went  into  exile  you  would  not  know  what 


118 


TRIAL  AND  DExVTH  OF  SOCRATES. 


to  do  with  3'ourself,  stand  in  your  way ;  for  there  are  many 
places  for  you  to  go  to,  where  you  will  be  welcomed.  If 
you  choose  to  go  to  Thessaly,  I  have  friends  there  who  will 
make  much  of  you,  and  shelter  you  from  any  annoyance 
from  the  people  of  Thessaly. 

And  besides,  Socrates,  I^think  that  you  will  be  doing 
what  is  w'rong,  if  you  ab a n do n  yffllr TiJeTwhem"you^m i gh t 
preserve  it.  You  are  simply  playing  The  game  of  your 
enemies;  it  is  exactly  the  game  of  those  who  wanted  to 
destroy  you.  And  what  is  more,  to  me  you  seem  to  be 
abandoning  your  children  too :  you  will  leave  them  to  take 
their  chance  in'  life,  as  far  as  you  are  concerned,  when  you 
might  bring  them  up  and  educate  them.  Most  likely  their 
fate  will  be  the  usual  fate  of  children  who  are  left  orphans. 
But  you  ought  not  to  beget  children  unless  you  mean  to 
take  the  trouble  of  bringing  them  up  and  educating  them. 
It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  choosing  the  easy  way,  and  not 
the  way  of  a  good  and  brave  man,  as  you  ought,  when  you 
have  been  talking  all  your  life  long  of  the  value  that  you 
set  upon  virtue.  For  my  part,  I  feel  ashamed  both  for  you, 
and  for  us  who  are  your  friends.  Men  will  think  that  the 
whole  of  this  thing  which  has  happened  to  you — your  ap¬ 
pearance  in  court  to  take  your  trial,  when  you  need  not 
have  appeared  at  all;  the  very  way  in  which  the  trial  was 
conducted ;  and  then  lastly  this,  for  the  crowning  absurdity 
of  the  whole  affair,  is  due  to  our  cowardice.  It  will  look 
as  if  we  had  shirked  the  danger  out  of  miserable  cowardice ; 
for  we  did  not  save  you,  and  you  did  not  save  yourself, 
when  it  was  quite  possible  to  do  so,  if  we  had  been  good  for 
anything  at  all.  Take  care,  Socrates,  lest  these  things 
be  not  evil  only,  but  also  dishonorable  to  you  and  to  us. 
Consider  then;  or  rather  the  time  for  consideration  is  past; 
we  must  resolve;  and  there  is  only  one  plan  possible. 
Everything  must  be  done  to-night.  If  we  delay  any  longer, 
we  are  lost.  0  Socrates,  I  implore  you  not  to  refuse  to  lis¬ 
ten  to  me. 

Socr.  My  dear  Crito,  if  your  anxiety  to  save  me  be  right, 
it  is  most  valuable:  but  if  it  be  not  right,  its  greatness 
makes  it  all  the  more  dangerous.  We  must  consider  then 


CRITO. 


whether  we  are  to  do  as  you  say,  or  net ;  t'c 
I  always  have  been,  a  man  who  will  listen., 
the  voice  of  the  reasoning7  which  on  considera 
be  Truest.  I  cannot  cast  aside  my  former  arg 
cause" this  misfortune  has  come  to.  me.  They  set- 
to  be  as  true  as  ever  they  were,  and  I  hold  exactly  ti 
ones  in  honor  and  esteem  as  I  used  to :  and  if  we  ha 
better  reasoning  to  substitute  for  them,  I  certainly  si 
not  agree  to  your  proposal,  not  even  though  the  power  c 
the  multitude  should  scare  us  with  fresh  terrors,  as  chil¬ 
dren  are  scared  with  hobgoblins,  and  inflict  upon  us  new 
fines,  and  imprisonments,  and  deaths.  How  then  shall  we 
most  fitly  examine  the  question?  Shall  we  go  back  first 
to  what  you  say  about  the  opinions  of  men,  and  ask  if  we 
used  to  be  right  in  thinking  that  we  ought  to  pay  attention 
to  some  opinions,  and  not  to  others  ?  Used  we  to  he  right 
in  saying  so  before  I  was  condemned  to  die,  and  has  it 
now  become  apparent  that  we  were  talking  at  random, 
and  arguing  for  the  sake  of  argument,  and  that  it  was 
really  nothing  but  play  and  nonsense?  I  am  anxious, 
Crito,  to  examine  our  former  reasoning  with  your  help, 
and  to  see  whether  my  present  position  will  appear  to  me 
to  have  affected  its  truth  in  any  way,  or  not;  and  whether 
we  are  to  set  it  aside,  or  to  yield  assent  to  it.  Those  of  us 
who  thought  at  all  seriously,  used  always  to  say,  I  think, 
exactly  what  I  said  just  now,  namely,  that  we  ought  to  es¬ 
teem  some  of  the  opinions  which  men  form  highly,  and  not 
others.  Tell  me,  Crito,  if  you  please,  do  you  not  think 
that  they  were  right  ?  For  you,  humanly  speaking,  will  not 
have  to  die  to-morrow,  and  your  judgment  will  not  be 
biassed  by  that  circumstance.  Consider  then :  do  you  not 
think  it  reasonable  to  say  that  we  should  not  esteem  all  the 
opinions  of  men,  but  only  some,  nor  the  opinions  of  all 
men,  but  only  of  some  men  ?  What  do  you  think  ?  Is  not 
this  true  ? 

Crito.  It  is. 

Socr.  And  we  should  esteem  the  good  opinions,  and  not 
the  worthless  ones  ? 

Crito.  Yes. 


aL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

the  good  opinions  are  those  of  the  wise,  and 
.ess  ones  those  of  the  foolish? 

Of  course. 

.  And  what  used  we  to  say  about  this?  Does  a 
who  is  in  training,  and  who  is  in  earnest  about  it, 

end  to  the  praise  and  blame  and  opinion  of  all  men,  or 
,f  the  one  man  only  who  is  a  doctor  or  a  trainer  ? 

Crito.  lie  attends  only  to  the  opinion  of  the  one  man. 

Socr.  Then  he  ought  to  fear  the  blame  and  welcome  the 
praise  of  this  one  man,  not  of  the  many? 

Crito.  Clearly.  _ 

Socr.  Then  he  must  act  and  exercise,  and  eat  and  drink 
in  whatever  way  the  one  man  who  is  his  master,  and  who 
understands  the  matter,  bids  him ;  not  as  others  bid  him  ? 

Crito.  That  is  so. 

Socr.  Good.  But  if  he  disobeys  this  one  man,  and  disre¬ 
gards  his  opinion  and  his  praise,  and  esteems  instead  what 
the  many,  who  understand  nothing  of  the  matter,  say,  will 
he  not  suffer  for  it  ? 

Crito.  Of  course  he  will. 

Socr.  And  how  will  he  suffer?  In  what  direction,  and 
in  what  part  of  himself? 

Crito.  Of  course  in  his  body.  That  is  disabled. 

Socr.  You  are  right.  And,  Crito,  to  be  brief,  is  it  not 
the  same,  in  everything?  And,  therefore,  in  questions  of 
right  and  wrong,  and  of  the  base  and  the  honorable,  and 
of  good  and  evil,  which  we  are  now  considering,  ought  we 
to  follow  the  opinion  of  the  many  and  fear  that,  or  the 
opinion  of  the  one  man  who  understands  these  matters  (if 
we  can  find  him),  and  feel  more  shame  and  fear  before 
him  than  before  all  other  men?  For  if  we  do  not  follow 
him,  we  shall  cripple  and  maim  that  part  of  us  which,  we 
used  to  sav.  is  improved  by  right  and  disabled  by  wrong. 
Or  is  this  not  so  ? 

Crito.  No,  Socrates,  I  agree  with  you. 

Socr.  Now,  if,  by  listening  to  the  opinions  of  those  who 
do  not  understand,  we  disable  that  part  of  us  which  is  im¬ 
proved  by  health  and  crippled  by  disease,  is  our  life  worth 
living,  when  it  is  crippled?  It  is  the  body,  is  it  not? 


CRITO. 


121 


Grito.  Yes. 

Socr.  Is  life  worth  living  with  the  bod}'  crippled  and  in 
a  bad  state  ? 

Crito.  No,  certainly  not. 

Socr.  Then  is  life  worth  living  when  that  part  of  ns 
which  is  maimed  by  wrong  and  benefited  by-  right  is  crip¬ 
pled  ?  Or  do  we  consider  that  part  of  us,  whatever  it  is, 
which  has  to  do  with  right  and  wrong  to  be  of  less  con¬ 
sequence  than  our  body? 

Crito.  No,  certainly  not. 

Socr.  But  more  valuable  ? 

Crito.  Yes,  much  more  so. 

Socr.  Then,  my  excellent  friend,  we  must  not  think  so 
much  of  what  the  many  will  say  of  us;  we  must  think  of 
what  the  one  man,  who  understands  right  and  wrong,  and 
of  what  Truth  herself  will  say  of  us.  And  so  you  are  mis¬ 
taken  to  begin  with,  when  you  invite  us  to  regard  the  opin¬ 
ion  of  the  multitude  concerning  the  right  and  the  honorable 
and  the  good,  and  their  opposites.  But,  it  may  be  said,  the 
multitude  can  put  us  to  death? 

Crito.  Yes,  that  is  evident.  That  may  be  said,  Socrates. 

Socr.  True.  But,  my  excellent  friend,  to  me  it  appears 
that  the  conclusion  which  we  have  just  reached,  is  the 
same  as  our  conclusion  of  former  times.  Now  consider 
whether  we  still  hold  to  the  belief,  that  we  should  setjhe 
higheskTaluepnot  on  living,'  1  j utkhriTNngNveTr? 

Crito.  Yes,  avo  do. 

Socr.  And  living  well  andjronorably  and  right!}' mean 
the  same  thing:  do  AvcTmTd  to  'that  or  not? 

~~~Cnto.  We  do. 

Socr.  Then,  starting  from  these  premises,  we  have  to 
consider  whether  it  is  right  or  not  right  for  me  to  try  to 
escape  from  prison,  without  the  consent  of  the  Athenians. 
If  we  find  that  it  is  right,  we  will  try :  if  not,  we  will  let 
it  alone.  I  am  afraid  that  considerations  of  expense,  and 
of  reputation,  and  of  bringing  up  my  children,  of  AV'hich 
you  talk,  Crito,  are  only  the  reflections  of  our  friends,  the 
many,  who  lightly  put  men  to  death,  and  Avho  would,  if 
they  could,  as  lightly  bring  them  to  life  again,  without  a 


122 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


thought.  But  reason,  which  is  our  guide,  shows  us  that 
we  can  have  nothing  o  consider  but  the  question  which  I 
asked  just  now:  namely,  shall  we  be  doing  right  if  we 
give  money  and  thanks  to  the  men  -who  are  to  aid  me  in 
escaping,  and  if  we  ourselves  take  our  respective  parts  in 
my  escape?  Or  shall  we  in  truth  be  doing  wrong,  if  we 
do  all  this?  And  if  we  find  that  we  should  be  doing  wrong, 
then  we  must  not  take  any  account  either  of  death,  or  of 
any  other  evil  that  may  be  the  consequence  of  remaining 
quietly  here,  but  only  of  doing  wrong. 

Criio.  I  think  that  you  are  right,  Socrates.  But  what 
are  we  to  do? 

Socr.  Let  us  consider  that  together,  my  good  sir,  and  if 
you  can  contradict  anything  that  I  say,  do  so,  and  I  will 
be  convinced :  but  if  you  cannot,  do  not  go  on  repeating  to 
me  any  longer,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  should  escape  with¬ 
out  the  consent  of  the  Athenians.  I  am  very  anxious  to 
act  with  your  approval:  I  do  not  want  you  to  think  me 
mistaken.  But  now-  tell  me  if  you  agree  with  the  doctrine 
from  which  I  start,  and  try  to  answer  my  questions  as  you 
think  best. 

Crito.  1  will  try. 

Socr.  Ought  we  never  to  do  wrong  intentionally  at  all; 
or  may  we  do  wrong  in  some  ways,  and  not  in  others?  Or, 
as  we  have  often  agreed  in  former  times,  is  it  never  either 
good  or  honorable  to  do  wrong?  Have  all  our  former  con¬ 
clusions  been  forgotten  in  these  few  days?  Old  men  as 
we  were,  Crito,  did  we  not  see.  in  days  gone  by,  when  we 
were  gravely  conversing  with  each  other,  that  we  were  no 
better  than  children  ?  Or  is  not  what  we  used  to  say  most 
assuredly  the  truth,  whether  the  world  agrees  with  us  or 
not?  Is  not  wrong-doing  an  evil  and  a  shame  to  the 
•wrong-doer  in  every  case,  whether  we  incur  a  heavier  or  a 
lighter  punishment  than  death  as  the  consequence  of  doing 
right  ?  D<?  we  believe  that  ? 

Crito.  We  do. 

Socr.  Then  we  ought  never  to  do  wrong  at  all? 

Crito.  Certainly  not. 

Socr.  Neither,  if  we  ought  never  to  do  wrong  at  all, 


CRITO.  123 

ought  we  to  repay  wrong  with  wrong,  as  the  world  thinks 
we  may? 

Crito.  Clearly  not. 

Socr.  Well  then,  Crito,  ought  we  to  do  evil  to  any  one  ? 

Crito.  Certainly  I  think  not,  Socrates. 

,  Socr.  And  is  it  right  to  repay  evil  with  evil,  as  the 
world  thinks,  or  not  right? 

Crito.  Certainly  it  is  not  right. 

Socr.  For  there  is  no  difference,  is  there,  between  doing 
evil  to  a  man,  and  wronging  him? 

Crito.  True. 

Socr.  Then  we  ought  not  to  repay  wrong  with  wrong  or 
do  harm  to  any  man,  no  matter  what  we  may  have  suffered 
from  him.  And  in  conceding  this,  Crito,  be  careful  that 
3rou  do  not  concede  more  than  you  mean.  For  I  know 
that  only  a  few  men  hold,  or  ever  will  hold  this  opinion. 
And  so  those  who  hold  it,  and  those  who  do  not,  have  no 
common  ground  of  argument;  they  can  of  necessity  only 
look  with  contempt  on  each  other’s  belief.  Do  you  there¬ 
fore  consider  very  carefully  whether  you  agree  with  me 
and  share  my  opinion.  Are  we  to  start  in  our  inquiry  from 
the  doctrine  that  it  is  never  right  either  to  do  wrong,  or  to 
repay  wrong  with  wrong,  or  to  avenge  ourselves  on  any 
man  who  harms  us,  by  harming  him  in  return?  Or  do 
you  disagree  with  me  and  dissent  from  my  principle?  I 
myself  have  believed  in  it  for  a  long  time,  and  I  believe  in 
it  still.  But  if  you  differ  in  any  way,  explain  to  me  how. 
If  you  still  hold  to  our  former  opinion,  listen  to  my  next 
point. 

Crito.  Yes,  I  hold  to  it,  and  I  agree  with  you.  Go  on. 

Socr.  Then,  my  next  point,  or  rather  my  next  question, 
is  this:  Ought  a  man  to  perform  his  just  agreements,  or 
may  he  shuffle  out  of  them  ? 

Crito.  He  ought  to  perform  them. 

Socr.  Then  consider.  If  I  escape  without  the  state’s 
consent,  shall  I  be  injuring  those  whom  I  ought  least  to 
injure,  or  not?  Shall  I  be  abiding  by  my  just  agreements 
or  not  ? 


124 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Crito.  I  cannot  answer  your  question,  Socrates.  I  do  not 
understand  it. 

Socr.  Consider  it  in  this  way.  Suppose  the  laws  and  the 
commonwealth  were  to  come  and  appear  to  me  as  I  was 
preparing  to  run  away  (if  that  is  the  right  phrase  to 
describe  my  escape)  and  were  to  ask,  “  Tell  us,  Socrates, 
what  have  you  in  your  mind  to  do?  What  do  you  mean  by 
trying  to  escape,  but  to  destroy  us  the  laws,  and  the  whole 
city,  so  far  as  in  you  lies?  Do  you  think  that  a  state  can 
exist  and  not  be  overthrown,  in  which  the  decisions  of  law 
are  of  no  force,  and  are  disregarded  and  set  at  nought  by 
private  individuals?”  How  shall  we  answer  questions 
like  that,  Crito?  Much  might  be  said,  especially  by  an 
orator,  in  defense  of  the  law  which  makes  judicial  de¬ 
cisions  supreme.  Shall  I  reply,  “  But  the  state  has  in¬ 
jured  me:  it  has  decided  my  cause  wrongly.”  Shall  we 
say  that? 

Crito.  Certainly  we  will,  Socrates. 

Socr.  And  suppose  the  laws  were  to  reply,  “Was  that 
our  agreement  ?  or  was  it  that  you  would  submit  to  what¬ 
ever  judgments  the  state  should  pronounce?”  And  if  we 
were  to  wonder  at  their  words,  perhaps  they  would  say, 
“Socrates,  wonder  not  at  our  words,  but  answer  us;  you 
yourself  are  accustomed  to  ask  questions  and  to  answer 
them.  What  complaint  have  you  against  us  and  the  city, 
that  you  are  trying  to  destroy  us  ?  Are  we  not,  first,  your 
parents?  Through  us  your  father  took  your  mother  and 
begat  you.  Tell  us,  have  you  any  fault  to  find  with  those 
of  us  that  are  the  laws  of  marriage  ?  ”  “I  have  none,”  I 
should  reply.  “  Or  have  you  any  fault  to  find  with  those  of 
us  that  regulate  the  nurture  and  education  of  the  child, 
which  you,  like  others,  received?  Did  not  we  do  well  in 
bidding  your  father  educate  you  in  music  and  gymnastic?  ” 
“  You  did,”  I  should  say.  '  “  Well  then,  since  you  were 
brought  into  the  world  and  nurtured  and  educated  by  us, 
how,  in  the  first  place,  can  you  deny  that  you  are  our  child 
and  our  slave,  as  your  fathers  were  before  you?  And  if 
this  be  so,  do  you  think  that  your  rights  are  on  a  level  with 
ours?  Do  you  think  that  you  have  a  right  to  retaliate 


CRITO. 


125 


upon  us  if  we  should  try  to  do  anything  to  you.  You  had 
not  the  same  rights  that  your  father  had,  or  that  your 
master  would  have  had,  if  you  had  been  a  slave.  You  had 
no  right  to  retaliate  upon  them  if  they  ill-treated  you,  or  to 
answer  them  if  they  reviled  you,  or  to  strike  them  back 
if  they  struck  you,  or  to  repay  them  evil  with  evil  in  any 
way.  And  do  you  think  that  you  may  retaliate  on  your 
country  and  its  laws?  If  we  try  to  destroy  you,  because 
we  think  i+  right,  will  you  in  return  do  all  that  you  can  to 
destroy  us,  the  laws,  and  your  country,  and  say  that  in  so 
doing  you  are  doing  right,  you,  the  man,  who  in  truth 
thinks  so  much  of  virtue?  Or  are  you  too  wise  to  see  that 
your  country  is  worthier,  and  more  august,  and  more 
sacred,  and  holier,  and  held  in  higher  honor  both  by  the 
gods  and  by  all  men  of  understanding,  than  your  father 
and  your  mother  and  all  your  other  ancestors;  and  that 
it  is  your  bounden  duty  to  reverence  it,  and  to  submit  to 
it,  and  to  approach  it  more  humbly  than  you  would  ap¬ 
proach  your  father,  when  it  is  angry  with  you ;  and  either 
to  do  whatever  it  bids  you  to  do  or  to  persuade  it  to  excuse 
you ;  and  to  obey  in  silence  if  it  orders  you  to  endure 
stripes  or  imprisonment,  or  if  it  send  you  to  battle  to  be 
wounded  or  to  die  ?  That  is  what  is  your  duty.  You  must 
not  give  way,  nor  retreat,  nor  desert  your  post.  In  war, 
and  in  the  court  of  justice,  and  everywhere,  you  must  do 
whatever  your  city  and  your  country  bid  you  do,  or  you 
must  convince  them  that  their  commands  are  unjust. 
But  it  is  against  the  law  of  God  to  use  violence  to  your 
father  or  to  your  mother;  and  much  more  so  is  it  against 
the  law  of  God  to  use  violence  to  your  country.”  What 
answer  shall  we  make,  Crito  ?  Shall  we  say  that  the  laws 
speak  truly,  or  not  ? 

Crito.  I  think  that  they  do. 

i Soer.  “'Then  consider,  Socrates,”  perhaps  they  would 
say,  “if  we  are  right  in  saying  that  by  attempting  to 
escape  you  are  attempting  to  injure  us.  We  brought  you 
into  the  world,  we  nurtured  you,  we  educated  you,  we  gave 
you  and  every  other  citizen  a  share  of  all  the  good  things 
we  could.  Yet  we  proclaim  that  if  any  man  of  the  Athen- 


126  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

ians  is  dissatisfied  with  us,  he  may  take  his  goods  and  go 
away  whithersoever  he  pleases:  we  give  that  permission 
to  every  man  who  chooses  to  avail  himself  of  it,  so  soon  as 
he  has  reached  man’s  estate,  and  sees  us,  the  laws,  and  the 
administration  of  our  city.  No  one  of  us  stands  in  his  way 
or  forbids  him  to  take  his  goods  and  go  wherever  he  likes, 
whether  it  be  to  an  Athenian  colony,  or  to  any  foreign 
country,  if  he  is  dissatisfied  with  us  and  with  the  city.  But 
we  say  that  every  inan  of  you  who  remains  here,  seeing  how 
we  administer  justice,  and  how  we  govern  the  city  in  other 
matters,  has  agreed,  by  the  very  fact  of  remaining  here,  to 
do  whatsoever  we  bid  him.  And,  we  say,  he  who  disobeys 
us,  does  a  threefold  wrong:  he  disobeys  us  who  are  his 
parents,  and  he  disobeys  us  who  fostered  him,  and  he  dis¬ 
obeys  us  after  he  has  agreed  to  obey  us,  without  persuading 
us  that  we  are  wrong.  Yet  we  did  not  bid  him  sternly  to 
do  whatever  we  told  him.  We  offered  him  an  alternative; 
we  gave  him  his  choice,  either  to  obey  us,  or  to  convince 
us  that  we  were  wrong:  but  he  does  neither. 

“  These  are  the  charges,  Socrates,  to  which  we  say  that 
vou  will  expose  yourself,  if  you  do  what  you  intend ;  and 
that  not  less,  but  more  than  other  Athenians.”  And  if 
I  were  to  ask,  “  And  why?  ”  they  might  retort  with  justice 
that  I  have  bound  myself  by  the  agreement  with  them  more 
than  other  Athenians.  They  would  say,  “  Socrates,  we 
have  very  strong  evidence  that  you  were  satisfied  with  us 
and  with  the  city.  You  would  not  have  been  content  to 
stay  at  home  in  it  more  than  other  Athenians,  unless  you 
had  been  satisfied  witn  it  more  than  they.  You  never 
went  away  from  Athens  to  the  festivals,  save  once  to  the 
Isthmian  games,  nor  elsewhere  except  on  military  service; 
you  never  made  other  journeys  like  other  men ;  you  had  no 
desire  to  see  other  cities  or  other  laws;  you  were  contented 
with  us  and  our  city.  So  strongly  did  you  prefer  us,  and 
agree  to  be  governed  bv  us:  and  what  is  more,  you  begat 
children  in  this  city,  you  found  it  so  pleasant.  And  be¬ 
sides,  if  you  had  wished,  you  might  at  your  trial  have 
offered  to  go  into  exile.  At  that  time  you  could  have  done 
■with  the  state’s  consent,  what  you  are  trying  now  to  do 


CRITO. 


12? 

without  it.  But  then  you  gloried  in  being  willing  to  die. 
You  said  that  you  preferred  death  to  exile.  And  now  you 
are  not  ashamed  of  those  words:  you  do  not  respect  us  the 
laws,  for  you  are  trying  to  destroy  us :  and  you  are  acting 
just  as  a  miserable  slave  would  act,  trying  to  run  away, 
and  breaking  the  covenant  and  agreement  which  you  made 
to  submit  to  our  government.  First,  therefore,  answer 
this  question.  Are  we  right,  or  are  we  wrong,  in  saying 
that  you  have  agreed  not  in  mere  words,  but  in  reality,  to 
live  under  our  government  ?  ”  What  are  we  to  say,  Crito  ? 
Must  we  not  admit  that  it  is  true? 

Crito.  We  must,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Then  they  would  say,  “  Are  you  not  breaking  your 
covenants  and  agreements  with  us  ?  And  you  were  not  led 
to  make  them  by  force  or  by  fraud :  you  had  not  to  make 
up  your  mind  in  a  hurry.  You  had  seventy  years  in 
which  you  might  have  gone  away,  if  you  had  been  dissatis¬ 
fied  with  us,  or  if  the  agreement  had  seemed  to  you 
unjust.  But  you  preferred  neither  Lacedaemon  nor  Crete, 
though  you  are  fond  of  saying  that  they  are  well  governed, 
nor  any  other  state,  either  of  the  Hellenes,  or  the  Barbar¬ 
ians.  You  went  away  from  Athens  less  than  the  lame  and 
the  blind  and  the  cripple.  Clearly  you,  far  more  than 
other  Athenians,  were  satisfied  with  the  city,  and  also  with 
us  who  are  its  laws:  for  who  would  be  satisfied  with  a 
city  which  had  no  laws?  And  now  will  you  not  abide  by 
your  agreement?  If  you  take  our  advice,  you  will,  Soc¬ 
rates  :  then  you  will  not  make  yourself  ridiculous  by  going 
away  from  Athens. 

“  For  consider :  what  good  will  you  do  yourself  or  your 
friends  by  thus  transgressing,  and  breaking  your  agree¬ 
ment  ?  It  is  tolerably  certain  that  they,  on  their  part,  will 
at  least  run  the  risk  of  exile,  and  of  losing  their  civil 
rights,  or  of  forfeiting  their  property.  For  yourself,  you 
might  go  to  one  of  the  neighboring  cities,  to  Thebes  or  to 
Megara  for  instance — for  both  of  them  are  well  governed-— 
but,  Socrates,  you  will  come  as  an  enemy  to  these  common¬ 
wealths  ;  and  all  who  care  for  their  city  will  look  askance 
at  you,  and  think  that  you  are  a  subverter  of  law.  And  you 


128 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


will  confirm  the  judges  in  their  opinion,  and  make  it  seem 
that  their  verdict  was  a  just  one.  For  a  man  who  is  a 
subverter  of  law,  may  well  be  supposed  to.  be  a  corrupter 
of  the  young  and  thoughtless.  Then  will  you  avolcTwell- 
governed  states  and  civilized  men?  Will  life  be  worth 
having,  if  you  do?  Or  will  you  consort  with  such  men, 
and  converse  without  shame — about  what,  Socrates? 
About  the  things  which  you  talk  of  here?  Will  you  tell 
them  that  virtue,  and  justice,  and  institutions,  and  law 
are  the  most  precious  things  that  men  can  have?  And 
do  you  not  think  that  that  will  be  a  shameful  thing  in 
Socrates?  You  ought  to  think  so.  But  you  will  leave 
these  places;  you  will  go  to  the  friends  of  Crito  in  Thes¬ 
saly:  for  there  there  is  most  disorder  and  licence:  and 
very  likely  they  will  be  delighted  to  hear  of  the  ludicrous 
way  in  which  you  escaped  from  prison,  dressed  up  in 
peasant’s  clothes,  or  in  some  other  disguise  which  people 
put  on  when  they  are  running  away,  and  with  your  ap¬ 
pearance  altered.  But  will  no  one  say  how  you,  an  old 
man,  with  probably  only  a  few  more  years  to  live,  clung 
so  greedily  to  life  that  you  dared  to  transgress  the  highest 
laws?  Perhaps  not,  if  you  do  not  displease  them.  But 
if  you  do,  Socrates,  you  will  hear  much  that  will  make  you 
blush.  You  will  pass  your  life  as  the  flatterer  and  the 
slave  of  all  men ;  and  what  will  you  be  doing  but  feasting 
in  Thessaly  ?  It  will  be  as  if  you  had  made  a  journey  to 
Thessaly  for  an  entertainment.  And  where  will  be  all 
our  old* sayings  about  justice  and  virtue  then?  But  you 
wish  to  live  for  the  sake  of  your  children?  You  want 
to  bring  them  up  and  educate  them  ?  What  ?  will  you  take 
them  with  you  to  Thessaly,  and  bring  them  up  and  educate 
them  there?  Will  you  make  them  strangers  to  their  own 
country,  that  you  may  bestow  this  benefit  on  them  too  ?  Or 
supposing  that  you  leave  them  in  Athens,  will  they  be 
brought  up  and  educated  better  if  you  are  alive,  though 
you  are  not  with  them?  Yes;  your  friends  will  take  care 
of  them.  Will  your  friends  take  care  of  them  if  you  make 
a  journey  to  Thessaly,  and  not  if  you  make  a  journey  to 
Hades?  'You  ought  not  to  think  that,  at  least  if  those 


CRITO.  129 

who  call  themselves  your  friends  are  good  for  anything  at 
all. 

“  No,  Socrates,  be  advised  by  ns  who  have  fostered  you. 
Think  neither  of  children,  nor  of  life,  nor  of  any  other 
thing  before  justice,  that  when  you  come  to  the  other  world 
you  may  be  able  to  make  your  defense  before  the  rulers 
who  sit  in  judgment  there.  It  is  clear  that  neither  you 
nor  any  of  your  friends  will  be  happier,  or  juster,  or  holier 
in  this  life,  if  you  do  this  thing,  nor  will  you  be  happier 
after  you  are  dead.  Now  you  will  go  away  wronged,  not 
by  us,  the  laws,  but  by  men.  But  if  you  repay  evil  with 
evil,  and  wrong  with  wrong  in  this  shameful  way,  and 
break  your  agreements  and  covenants  with  us,  and  injure 
those  whom  you  should  least  injure,  yourself,  and  your 
friends,  and  your  country,  and  us,  and  so  escape,  then  we 
shall  be  angry  with  you  while  you  live,  and  when  you  die 
our  brethren,  the  laws  in  Hades,  will  not  receive  you 
kindly  j.for  they  will  know  that  on  earth  you  did  all  that 
you  could  to  destroy  us.  Listen  then  to  us,  and  let  not 
Crito  persuade  you  to  do  as  he  says.” 

Ivnow  well,  my  dear  friend  Crito,  that  this  is  what  I 
seem  to  hear,  as  the  worshipers  of  Cybele  seem,  in  their 
frenzy,  to  hear  the  music  of  flutes :  and  the  sound  of  these 
words  rings  loudly  in  my  ears,  and  drowns  all  other  words. 
And  I  feel  sure  that  if  you  try  to  change  my  mind  you  will 
speak  in  vain;  nevertheless,  if  you  think  that  you  will 
succeed,  say  on. 

Crito.  I  can  say  no  more,  Socrates. 

Socr.  Then  let  it  be,  Crito :  and  let  us  do  as  I  say,  seeing 
that  God  so  directs  us. 

9 


P II  .EDO 


CHARACTERS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE. 


Pfledo. 

Echecrates. 

Socrates. 

Cebes. 

Simmias. 

Apollodorus. 

Crito. 

The  Servant  of  the  Eleven. 

Scene. — First  Phlius,  then  the  Prison  of  Socrates. 


PHJEDO. 


Echecrates.  Were  you  with  Socrates  yourself,  Piueclo, 
on  that  day  when  he  drank  the  poison  in  the  prison,  or 
did  you  hear  the  story  from  some  one  else  ? 

Phcedo.  I  was  there  myself,  Echecrates. 

Ech.  Then  what  was  it  that  our  master  said  before  his 
death,  and  how  did  he  die?  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you 
would  tell  me.  None  of  our  citizens  go  very  much  to 
Athens  now;  and  no  stranger  has  come  from  there  for  a 
long  time,  who  could  give  us  any  definite  account  of  these 
things,  except  that  he  drank  the  poison  and  died.  We 
could  learn  nothing  beyond  that. 

Phcedo.  Then  have  you  not  heard  about  the  trial  either, 
how  that  went? 

Ech.  Yes,  we  were  told  of  that :  and  we  were  rather  sur¬ 
prised  to  find  that  he  did  not  die  till  so  long  after  the 
trial.  Why  was  that,  Phaedo? 

Phcedo.  It  was  an  accident,  Echecrates.  The  stem  of 
the  ship,  which  the  Athenians  send  to  Delos,  happened  to 
have  been  crowned  on  the  day  before  the  trial. 

Ech.  And  what  is  this  ship? 

Phcedo.  It  is  the  ship,  as  the  Athenians  say,  in  which 
Theseus  took  the  seven  youths  and  the  seven  maidens  to 
Crete,  and  saved  them  from  death,  and  himself  was  saved. 
The  Athenians  made  a  vow  then  to  Apollo,  the  story  goes, 
to  send  a  sacred  mission  to  Delos  every  year,  if  they  should 
be  saved;  and  from  that  time  to  this  they  have  always 
sent  it  to  the  god,  every  year.  They  have  a  law  to  keep 
the  city  pure  as  soon  as  the  mission  begins,  and  not  to 

133 


134 


THE  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


execute  any  sentence  of  death  until  the  ship  has 'returned 
from  Delos;  and  sometimes,  when  it  is  detained  bv  con¬ 
trary  winds,  that  is  a  long  while.  The  sacred  mission 
begins  when  the  priest  of  Apollo  crowns  the  stern  of  the 
ship:  and,  as  I  said,  this  happened  to  have  been  done  on 
the  day  before  the  trial.  That  was  why  Socrates  lay  so 
loug  in  prison  between  his  trial  and  his  death. 

Ech.  But  tell  me  about  his  death,  Phfedo.  What  was 
said  and  done,  and  which  of  his  friends  were  with  our 
master?  Or  would  not  the  authorities  let  them  be  there? 
Did  he  die  alone? 

Plicedo.  Oh,  no :  some  of  them  were  there,  indeed  several. 

Ech.  It  would  be  very  good  of  you,  if  you  are  not  busy, 
to  tell  us  the  whole  story  as  exactly  as  you  can. 

Phcedo.  No:  I  have  nothing  to  do  and  I  will  try  to 
relate  it.  Nothing  is  more  pleasant  to  me  than  to  recall 
Socrates  to  my  mind,  whether  by  speaking  of  him  myself, 
or  by  listening  to  others. 

Ech.  Indeed,  Phaedo,  you  will  have  an  audience  like 
yourself.  But  try  to  tell  us  everything  that  happened 
as  precisely  as  you  can. 

Phcedo.  Well,  I  myself  was  strangely  moved  on  that  day. 
I  did  not  feel  that  I  was  being  present  at  the  death  of  a 
dear  friend:  I  did  not  pity  him,  for  he  seemed  to  me 
happy,  Echecrates,  both  in  his  bearing  and  in  his  words, 
so  fearlessly  and  nohlv  did  he  die.  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  the  gods  would  watch  over  him  still  on 
his  journey  to  the  other  world,  and  that  when  he  arrived 
there  it  would  he  well  with  him,  if  it  was  ever  well  with 
any  man.  Therefore  1  had  scarcely  any  feeling  of  pity, 
as  you  would  expect  at  such  a  mournful  time.  Neither 
did  I  feel  the  pleasure  which  I  usually  felt  at  our  philo¬ 
sophical  discussions ;  for  our  talk  was  of  philosophy.  A 
very  singular  feeling  came  over  me,  a  strange  mixture  of 
pleasure  and  of  pain  when  I  remembered  that  he  was 
presently  to  die.  All  of  us-  who  were  there  were  in  much 
the  same  state,  laughing  and  crying  by  turns;  particularly 
Apollodorus.  I  think  you  know  the  man  and  his  ways. 

Ech.  Of  course  I  do. 


PHiEDO.  135 

Phcedo.  Well,  he  did  not  restrain  himself  at  all;  and  I 
myself  and  the  others  were  greatly  agitated  too. 

Ech.  Who  were  they,  Phsedo  ? 

Phcedo.  Of  native  Athenians,  there  was  this  Apollodorus, 
and  Critobulus,  and  his  father  Crito,  and  Hermogenes,  and 
Epigenes,  and  iEschines,  and  Antisthenes.  Then  there 
was  Ctesippus  the  Pteanian,  and  Menexenus,  and  some 
other  Athenians.  Plato,  I  believe  was  ill. 

Ech.  Were  any  strangers  there  ? 

Pluedo.  Yes,  there  was  Simmies  of  Thebes,  and  Cebes, 
and  Phaedondes;  and  Eucleides  and  Terpsion  from  Me- 
gara. 

Fell.  But  Aristippus  and  Cleombrotus?  were  they 
present  ? 

Phcedo.  Xo,  they  were  not.  They  were  said  to  be  in 
iEgina. 

Ech.  Was  any  one  else  there? 

Phcedo.  No,  I  think  that  these  were  all. 

Ech.  Then  tell  us  about  your  conversation. 

Phcedo.  I  will  try  to  relate  the  whole  story  to  you  from 
the  beginning.  On  the  previous  days  I  and  the  others  had 
always  met  in  the  morning  at  the  court  where  the  trial 
was  held,  which  was  close  to  the  prison;  and  then  we  had 
gone  in  to  Socrates.  We  used  to  wait  each  morning  until 
the  prison  was  opened,  conversing:  for  it  was  not  opened 
early.  When  it  was  opened  we  used  to  go  in  to  Socrates, 
and  we  generally  spent  the  whole  day  with  him.  But  on 
that  morning  we  met  earlier  than  usual;  for  the  evening 
before  we  had  learn,  on  leaving  the  prison,  that  the  ship 
had  arrived  from  Delos.  So  we  arranged  to  be  at  the 
usual  place  as  early  as  possible.  .  When  we  reached  the 
prison  the  porter,  who  generally  let  us  in,  came  out  to 
us  and  bade  us  wait  a  little,  and  not  to  go  in  until  he  sum¬ 
moned  us  himself;  “for  the  Eleven,”  he  said,  “are  re¬ 
leasing  Socrates  from  his  fetters,  and  giving  directions  for 
his  death  to-day/’  In  no  great  while  he  returned  and 
bade  us  enter.  So  we  went  in  and  found  Socrates  just 
released,  and  Xanthippe — you  know  her — sitting  by  him, 
holding  his  child  in  her  arms.  When  Xanthippe  saw 


136 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


us,  she  -wailed  aloud,  and  cried,  in  her  woman’s  way, 
“  This  is  the  last  time,  Socrates,  that  you  will  talk  with 
your  friends,  or  they  with  you.”  And  Socrates  glanced 
at  Crito,  and  said,  “  Crito,  let  her  be  taken  home.”  So 
some  of  Crito’s  servants  led  her  away,  weeping  bitterly 
and  beating  her  breast.  But  Socrates  sat  up  on  the  bed, 
and  bent  his  leg  and  rubbed  it  with  his  hand,  and  while 
he  was  rubbing  it  said  to  us.  How  strange  a  thing  is  what 
men  call  pleasure !  How  wonderful  is  its  relation  to  pain, 
which  seems  to  be  the  opposite  of  it !  They  will  not  corrie 
to  a  man  together:  but  if  he  pursues  the  one  and  gains  it, 
he  is  almost  forced  to  take  the  other  also,  as  if  they  were 
twro  distinct  things  united  at  one  end.  And  I  think,  said 
he,  that  if  iEsop  had  noticed  them  he  would  have  com¬ 
posed  a  fable  about  them,  to  the  effect  that  God  had 
wished  to  reconcile  them  when  they  were  quarreling,  and 
that,  when  he  could  not  do  that,  he  joined  their  ends  to¬ 
gether;  and  that  therefore  whenever  the  one  comes  to  a 
man,  the  other  is  sure  to  follow.  .  That  is  just  the  case 
with  me.  There  was  pain  in  my  leg  caused  by  the  chains : 
and  now,  it  seems,  pleasure  is  come  following  the  pain. 

Cebes  interrupted  him  and  said,  By  the  bye,  Socrates,  I 
am  glad  that  you  reminded  me.  Several  people  have  been 
inquiring  about  your  poems,  the  hymn  to  Apollo,  and 
yEsop’s  fables  which  you  have  put  into  metre,  and  only 
a  day  or  two  ago  Evenus  asked  me  what  was  your  reason 
for  writing  poetry  on  coming  here,  when  you  had  never 
written  a  line  before.  So  if  you  wish  me  to  be  able  to 
answer  him  when  he  asks  me  again,  as  I  know  that  he  will, 
tell  me  what  to  say. 

Then  tell  him  the  truth,  Cebes,  he  said.  Say  that  it  was 
from  no  wish  to  pose,  as  a  rival  to  him,  or  to  his  poems. 
I  knew  that  it  would  not  be  easy  to  do  that.  I  was  only 
testing  the  meaning  of  certain  dreams,  and  acquitting 
my  conscience  about  them,  in  case  they  should  be  bidding 
me  make  this  kind  of  music.  The  fact  is  this.  The  same 
dream  used  often  to  come  to  me  in  my  past  life,  appearing 
in  different  forms  at  different  times,  but  always  saying  the 
same  words,  “  Socrates,  work  at  music  gnd  compose  it,” 


PHJEDO. 


137 


[Formerly  I  used  to  think  that  the  dream  was  encouraging 
me  and  cheering  me  on  in  what  was  already  the  work  of 
my  life,  just  as  the  spectators  cheer  on  different  runners 
in  a  race.  I  supposed  that  the  dream  was  encouraging  me 
to  create  the  music  at  which  I.  was  working  already^ for  I 
thought  that  isophy  was  the  highest  music,  and,  my  life 
was  spent  in  philosophy.  But  then,  after  the  trial,  when 
the  feast  of  the  god  delayed  my  death,  it  occurrd  to  me  that 
the  dream  might  possibly  he  bidding  me  create  music  in 
the  popular  sense,  and  that  in  that  case  I  ought  to  do  so, 
and  not  to  disobey :  I  thought  that  it  would  be  safer  to  ac¬ 
quit  my  conscience  by  creating  poetry  in  obedience  to  the 
dream  before  I  departed.  So  first  I  composed  a  hymn  to 
the  god  whose  feast  it  was.  And  then  I  turned  such  fables 
of  ^®sop  as  I  knew,  and  had  ready  to  my  hand,  into  verse, 
taking  those  which  came  first :  for  I  reflected  that  a  man 
who  means  to  be  a  poet  has  to  use  fiction  and  not  facts 
for  his  poems;  and  I  could  not  invent  fiction  myself. 

Tell  Evenus  this,  Cebes,  and  bid  him  farewell  for  me; 
and  tell  him  to  follow  me  as  quickly  as  he  can,  if  he  is 
wise.  (I,  it  seems,  shall  depart  to-day,  for  that  is  the 
will  of  the  Athenians. ‘\ 

And  Simmias  said.  What  strange  advice  to  give  Evenus, 
Socrates !  I  have  often  met  him,  and  from  what  I  have 
seen  of  him,  I  think  that  he  is  certainly  not  at  all  the  man 
to  take  it,  if  he  can  help  it. 

What?  he  said,  is  not  Evenus  a  philosopher? 

Yes,  I  suppose  so,  replied  Simmias. 

Then  Evenus  will  wish  to  die,  he  said,  and  so  will  every 
manwho  is*worthy  of  having  any  part  in  this  study.  But 
he  will  not  lay  violent  hands  on  himself;  for  that,  they 
say,  is  wrong.  And  as  he  spoke  he  put  his  legs  off  the 
bed  on  to  the  ground,  and  remained  sitting  thus  for  the 
rest  of  the  conversation. 

Then  Cebes  asked  him,  What  do  you  mean,  Socrates, 
by  saying  that  it  is  wrong  for  a  man  to  lay  violent  hands 
on  himself,  but  that  the  philosopher  will  wish  to  follow 
the  dying  man? 


138 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


What,  Cebes  ?  Have  you  and  Simmias  been  with  Philo* 
laus,  and  not  heard  about  these  things? 

Nothing  very  definite,  Socrates. 

Well,  I  myself  only  speak  of  them  from  hearsay:  yet 
there  is  no  reason  why  1  should  not  tell  you  what  I  have 
heard.  Indeed,  as  I  am  setting  out  on  a  journey  to  the 
other  world,  what  could  be  more  fitting  for  me  than  to 
talk  about  my  journey,  and  to  consider  what  we  imagine 
to  be  its  nature  ?  How  could  we  better  employ  the  interval 
between  this  and  sunset  ? 

Then  what  is  their  reason  for  saying  that  it  is  wron.  for 
a  man  to  kill  himself,  Socrates?  It  is  quite  true  that  I 
have  heard  Philolaus  say,  when  he  was  living  ai  Thebes, 
that  it  is  not  right :  and  I  have  heard  the  same  thing  from 
others  too :  but  I  never  heard  anything  definite  on  the  sub¬ 
ject  from  any  of  them. 

You  must  be  of  good  cheer,  said  he,  possibly  you  will 
hear  something  some  day.  But  perhaps  you  will  be  sur¬ 
prised  if  I  say  that  this  law,  unlike  every  other  law  to 
which  mankind  are  subject,  is  absolute  and  without  ex¬ 
ception  ;  and  that  it  is  not  true  that  death  is  better  than  life 
only  for  some  persons  and  at  some  times.  And  perhaps  you 
will  be  surprised  if  I  tell  you  that  these  men,  for  whom  it 
would  be  better  to  die,  may  not  do  themselves  a  service, 
that  they  must  await  a  benefactor  from  without. 

Oh  indeed,  said  Cebes,  laughing  quietly,  and  speaking  in 
his  native  dialect. 

Indeed,  said  Socrates,  so  stated  it  may  seem  strange:  and 
yet  perhaps  a  reason  may  be  given  for  it.  The  reason 
which  the  secret  teaching  1  gives,  that  man  is  in  a  kind  of 
prison,  and  that  he  may  not  set  himself  free,  nor  escape 
from  it.  seems  to  me  rather  profound  and  not  easy  to 
fathom.  But  I  do  think.  Cebes,  that  it  is  true_that  the  gods 
are  our  guardians,  and  that  we  men  are,  a  part  of  their 
property.  Do  you  not  think  so  ? 

I  do,  said  Cebes. 

Well  then,  said  he,  if  one  of  your  possessions  were  to 
kill  itself,  though  you  had  not  signified  that  you  wished  it 
1  The  Esoteric  system  of  the  Pythagoreans. 


PHiEDO. 


139 


to  die,  should  you  not  be  angry  with  it  ?  Should  you  not 
punish  it,  if  punishment  were  possible? 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

Then  in  this  way  perhaps  it  is  not  unreasonable  to  hold 
that  no  man  has  a  right  to  take  his  own  life,  but  that  he 
must  wait  until  Cod  sendriome 
been  sent  upoii  me. 

Yes,  said  Cebes,  that  does  seem  natural.  But  you  were 
saying  just  now  that  the  philosopher  will  desire  to  die.  Is 
not  that  a  paradox,  Socrates,  if  what  we  have  just  been 
saying,  that  God  is  our  guardian  and  that  we  are  his  prop¬ 
erty,  be  true.  It  is  not  reasonable  to  say  that  the  wise 
man  will  be  content  to  depart  from  this  service,  in  which 
the  gods,  who  are  the  best  of  all  rulers,  rule  him.  He  will 
hardly  think  that  when  he  becomes  free  he  will  take  better 
care  of  himself  than  the  gods  take  of  him.  A  fool  perhaps 
might  think  so,  and  say  that  he  would  do  well  to  run  away 
from  his  master:  he  might  not  consider  that  he  ought  not 
to  run  away  from  a  good  master,  but  that  he  ought  to  re¬ 
main  with  him  as  long  as  possible,  and  so  in  his  thought¬ 
lessness  he  might  run  away.  But  the  wise  man  will  surely 
desire  to  remain  always  with  one  who  is  better  than  himself. 
But  if  this  be  true,  Socrates,  the  reverse  of  what  you  said 
just  now  seems  to  follow.  The  wise  man  should  grieve  to 
die,  and  the  fool  should  rejoice. 

I  thought  Socrates  was  pleased  with  Cebes’  insistence. 
He  looked  at  us,  and  said,  Cebes  is  always  examining  argu¬ 
ments.  He  will  not  be  convinced  at  once  by  anything  that 
one  says. 

Yes,  Socrates,  said  Simmias,  but  I  do  think  that  now 
there  is  something  in  what  Cebes  says.  Why  should  really 
wise  men  want  to  run  away  from  masters  who  are  better 
than  themselves,-  and  lightly  quit  their  service?  And  I 
think  Cebes  is  aiming  his  argument  at  you,  because  you 
are  so  ready  to  leave  us,  and  the  gods,  who  are  good  rulers, 
as  you  yourself  admit. 

You  are  right,,  he  said.  I  suppose  you  mean  that  I 
must  defend  myself  against  your  charge,  as  if  I  were  in  a 
court  of  justice. 


140 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


That  is  just  our  meaning,  said  Simmias. 

Well  then,  he  replied,  let  me  try  to  make  a  more  success¬ 
ful  defense  to  you  than  1  did  to  the  judges  at  my  trial. 
I  should  be  wrong,  Cebes  and  Simmias,  he  went  on,  not 
to  grieve  at  death.  If  1  did  not  think  that  I  was 
going  to  live  both  with  other  gods  who  are  good  and 
wise,  and  with  men  who  have  died,  and  who  are  better 
than  the  men  of  this  world.  But  you  must  know  that  I 
hope  that  I  am  going  to  live  among  good  men,  though  I 
am  not  quite  sure  of  that.  But  I  am  as  sure  as  I  can  be 
in  such  matters  that  1  am  going  to  live  with  gods  who 
arc  very’  good  masters.  And  therefore  I  am  not  so  much 
grieved  at  death :  T  am  confident  that  the  dead  have  some 
kind  of  existence,  and,  as  has  been  said  of  old,  an  existence 
that  is  far  better  for  the  good  than  for  the  wicked. 

Well,  Socrates,  said  Simmias,  do  you  mean  to  go  away 
and  keep  this  belief  to  yourself,  or  will  you  let  us  share  it 
with  you  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  we  too  have  an  interest  in 
this  good.  And  it  will  also  serve  as  your  defense,  if  you 
can  convince  us  of  what  you  say. 

I  will  try,  he  replied.  But  I  think  Crito  has  been  want¬ 
ing  to  speak  to  me.  Let  us  first  hear  what  he  has  to  say. 

Only,  Socrates,  said  Crito,  that  the  man  who  is  going 
to  give  you  the  poison  has  been  telling  me  to  warn  you  not 
to  talk  much.  lie  says  that  talking  heats  people,  and  that 
the  action  of  the  poison  must  not  be  comiteracted  by  heat. 
Those  who  excite  themselves  sometimes  have  to  drink  it 
two  or  three  times. 

Let  him  be,  said  Socrates :  let  him  mind  his  own  business, 
and  be  prepared  to  give  me  the  poison  twice,  or,  if  need 
be,  thrice. 

I  know  that  would  be  your  answer,  said  Crito:  but  the 
man  has  been  importunate. 

Never  mind  him,  he  replied.  But  I  wish  now  to  explain 
to  you,  my  judges,  why  it  seems  to  me  that  a  man  who  has 
really  spent  his  life  in  philosophy  has  reason  to  be  of  good 
cheer  when  he  is  about  to  die,  and  may  well  hope  after 
death  to  gain  in  the  other  world  the  greatest  good.  I  will 
try  to  show  you,  Simmias  and  Cebes,  how  this  may  be. 


KLEDO. 


141 


The  world,  perhaps,  does  not  see  that  those  who  rightly 
engage  in  .philosophy,  study  only  dying  and  death.  And,  i  f 
this  be  true,  it  would  be  surely  strange  for  a  man  all 
through  his  life  to  desire  only  death,  and  then,  when  death 
comes  to  him,  to  be  vexed  at  it,  when  it  has  been  his  study 
and  his  desire  for  so  long. 

Simmias  laughed,  and  said :  Indeed,  Socrates,  you  make 
me  laugh,  though  I  am  scarcely  in  a  laughing  humor  now. 
If  the  multitude  heard  that,  I  fancy  they  would  think  that 
what  you  say  of  philosophers  is  quite  true ;  and  my  country¬ 
men  would  entirely  agree  with  you  that  philosophers  are 
indeed  eager  to  die,  and  they  would  say  that  they  know  full 
well  that  philosophers  deserve  to  be  put  to  death. 

And  they  would  be  right,  Simmias,  except  in  saying  that 
they  know  it.  They  do  not  know  in  what  sense  the  true 
philosopher  is  eager  to  die,  or  what  kind  of  death  he  de¬ 
serves,  or  in  what  sense  he  deserves  it.  Let  us  dismiss  them 
from  our  thoughts,  and  converse  by  ourselves.  Do  we  be¬ 
lieve  death  to  be  anything? 

We  do,  replied  Simmias. 

AmLdmwemot  behevnjL to  be  the  separation  of  the  soul  S 
from  the  body  ?  Does  not  death  mean  that  tlie  body  comes  ( 
to  exist  by  itself,  separated  from  the  soul,  and  that  the  soul 
exists  by  herself,  separated  from  the  body  ?  What  is 
death  but  that  ? 

It  is  that,  he  said. 

Now  consider,  my  good  friend,  if  you  and  I  are  agreed 
on  another  point  which  I  think  will  help  us  to  understand 
the  question  better.  Do  you  think  that  a  philosopher  will 
care  very  much  about  what  are  called  pleasures,  such  as  the 
pleasures  of  eating  and  drinking? 

Certainly  not,  Socrates,  said  Simmias. 

Of  about  the  pleasures  of  sexual  passion  ? 

Indeed,  no. 

And,  do  you  think  that  he  holds  the  remaining  cares  of 
the  body  in  high  esteem  ?  Will  he  think  much  of  getting 
fine  clothes,  and  sandals,  and  other  bodily 'adornments,  or 
will  he  despise  them,  except  so  far.  as  he  is  absolutely 
forced  to  meddle  with  them  ? 


142 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


The  real  philosopher,  I  think,  will  despise  them,  he  re¬ 
plied. 

In  short,  said  he,  you  think  that  his  studies  are  not  enn- 
cerned  with  the  body  ?  He  stands  alool  irom  it,  as  iar  au 
lie  can,  and  turns  towards  the  soul? 

1  do. 

Well  then,  in  these  matters,  first,  it  is  clear  that  the  phil¬ 
osopher  releases  his  soul  from  communion  with  the  body, 
so  far  as  he  can,  beyond  all  other  men? 

It  is. 

And  does  not  the  world  think,  Simmias,  that  if  a  man 
has  no  pleasure  in  such  things,  and  does  not  take  his  share 
in  them,  his  life  is  not  worth  living?  Do  not  they  hold 
that  he  M  ho  thinks  nothing  of  bodily  pleasures  is  almost 
as  good  as  dead  ? 

Indeed  you  are  right. 

But  what  about  the  actual  acquisition  of  wisdom?  If 
the  body  is  taken  as  a  companion  in  the  search  for  wisdom, 
is  it  a  hindrance  or  not?  For  example,  do  sight  and  hear¬ 
ing  convey  any  real  truth  to  men  ?  Are  not  the  very  poets 
forever  telling  us  that  we  neither  hear  nor  see  anything 
accurately?  But  if  these  senses  of  the  body  are  not  accu¬ 
rate  or  clear,  the  others  will  hardly  be  so,  for  they  are  all 
less  perfect  than  these,  are  they  not? 

Yes,  I  think  so,  certainly,  he  said. 

Then  when  does  the  soul  attain  truth?  he  asked.  We 
see  that,  'as  often”  as  she  seeks  to  investigate  anything  in 
company  with  the  body,  the  body  leads  her  astray. 

True. 

Is  it  not  by  reasoning,  if  at  all,  that  any  real  truth  be¬ 
comes  manifest  to  her? 

Yes. 

And  she  reasons  best,  I  suppose,  when  none  of  the  senses, 
whether  hearing,  or  sight,  or  pain,  or  pleasure,  harasses  her: 
when  she  has  dismissed  the  body,  and  released  herself  as 
far  as  she  can  from  all  intercourse  or  contact  with  it,  and 
so,  coming  to  be  as  much  alone  with  herself  as  is  possible, 
strives  after  real  truth. 

That  is  so. 


PHiEDO. 


143 


And  here  too  the  soul  of  the  philosopher  very  greatly 
des  p’ses  the  body,  and  flies  from  it,  and  seeks  to  be  alone 
by  herself,  does  she  not? 

Clearly. 

And  what  do  you  say  to  the  next  point,  Simmias?  Do 
we  say  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  absolute  justice,  or 
not  ? 

Indeed  we  do. 

And  absolute  beauty,  and  absolute  good  ? 

Of  course. 

Have  you  ever  seen  any  of  them  with  your  eyes  ? 

Indeed,  I  have  not,  he  replied. 

Did  you  ever  grasp  them  with  any  bodily  sense  ?  I  am 
speaking  of  all  absolutes,  whether  size,  or  health,  or 
strength ;  in  a  word  of  the  essence  or  real  being  of  every¬ 
thing.  Is  the  very  truth  of  things  contemplated  by  the 

body?  Is  it  not  rather  the  case  that  the  man. . who  prp- 

pares  himself  most  carefully  to  apprehend  by  his  intellect 
ihe  essence  of  each  thing  which,  he  examines,  will  come 
nearest  to  the  knowledge  of.  it? 

Certainly. 

And  will  not  a  man  attain  to  this  pure  thought  most 
completely,  if  he  goes  to  each  thing,  as  far  as  he  can, 

h  his  mind  alone,  taking  neither  sight,  nor  any  other 
sense  along  with  his  .reason  in  the  process  of  thought,  to  be 
an  encumbrance?  In  every  case  he  will  pursue  pure  and 
absolute  being,  with  his  pure  intellect  alone.  He  will  be 
set  free  as  far  as  possible  from  the  eye,  and  the  ear,  and, 
in  short,  from  the  whole  body,  because  intercourse  with  the 
body  troubles  the  soul,  and  hinders  her  from  gaining  truth 
and  wisdom.  Is  it  not  he  who  will  attain  the  knowledge  of 
real  being,  if  any  man  will  ? 

Your  words  are  admirably  true,  Socrates,  said  Simmias. 

And,  he  said,  must  not  all  this  cause  real  philosophers 
to  reflect,  and  make  them  say  to  each  other.  It  seems  that 
there  is  a  narrow  path  which  will  bring  us  safely  to  our 
journey’s  end,  with  reason  as  our  guide.  As  long  as  we 
have  this  body,  and  an  evil  of  that  sort  is  mingled  with  our 
souls,  we  shall  never  fully  gain  what  we  desire;  and  that  is 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


144 

truth.  For  the  body  is  forever  taking  up  our  time  with  the 
care  which  it  needs :  and,  besides,  whenever  diseases  attack 
it,  they  hinder  us  in  our  pursuit  of  real  being.  It  fills  us 
with  passions,  and  desires,  and  fears,  and  all  manner  of 
phantoms,  and  much  foolishness:  and  so,  as  the  saying 
goes,  in  very  truth  we  can  never  think  at  all  for  it.  It 
alone,  and  its  desires,  cause  wars  and  factions  and  battles : 
for  the  origin  of  all  wars  is  the-pursuit  of  wealth,  and  we 
are  forced  to  pursue  wealth  because  we  lave,  in  slavery  to  the 
cares  of  the  body.  And  therefore,  for  all  these  reasons,  we 
have  no  leisure  for  philosophy.  And  last  of  all,  if  we  ever 
are  free  from  the  bod)'  for  a  time,  and  then  turn  to  examine 
some  matter,  it  falls  in  our  way  at  every  step  of  the  inquiry, 
and  causes  confusion  and  trouble  and  panic,  so  that  we  can¬ 
not  see  the  truth  for  it.  Verily  we  have  learnt  that  if  we 
are  to  have  aity  pure  knowledge^  at  all_,  we  must  be  freed 
from  the  body;  the  soul  by  herself  mustj>elx>iy  filings  as 
they  are.  Then,  it  seems,  after  we  are  dead,  we  shall  gain 
the  wisdom  which  we  desire,  and  for  which  we  say  we 
have  a  passion,  but  not  while  we  are  alive,  as  the  argument 
shows.  For  if  it  be  not  possible  to  have  pure  knowledge 
while  the  body  is  with  us,  one  of  two  things  lnust  be  true: 
either  we  cannot  gain  knowledge  at  all,  or  we  can  gain  . 
it  only  after  death.  For  then,  and  not  till  then,  will  the 
soul  exist  by  herself,  separate  from  the  .b.ody.  And  while 
we  live,  we  shall  come  nearest  to  knowledge,  if  we  have 
no  communion  or  intercourse  with  the  body  beyond  what  is 
absolutely  necessary,  and  if  we  are  not  defiled  with  its 
nature.  We  must  live  pure  from  it  until  God  himself  re¬ 
leases  us.  And  when  we  are  thus  pure  and  released  from 
its  follies,  we  shall  dwell,  I  suppose,  with  others  who  are 
pure  like  ourselves,  and  we  shall  of  ourselves  know  all  that 
is  pure;  and  that  may  be  the  truth.  For  I  think  that  the 
impure  is  not  allowed  to  attain  to  the  pure.  Such,  Sim- 
mias,  I  fancy  must  needs  be  the  language  and  the  reflec¬ 
tions  of  the  true  lovers  of  knowledge.  Do  you  not  agree 
w'ith  me  ? 

Most  assuredly  I  do,  Socrates. 

And,  my  friend,  said  Socrates,  if  this  be  true,  I  have 


PHiEDO. 


145 


good  hope  that,  when  I  reach  the  place  whither  I  am  going, 
I  shall  there,  if  anywhere,  gain  fully  that  which  we  have 
sought  so  earnestly  in  the  past.  And  so  I  shall  set  forth 
cheerfully  on  the  journey  that  is  appointed  me  to-day,  and 
so  may  every  man  who  thinks  that  his  mind  is  prepared  and 
purified. 

That  is  quite  true,  said  Simmias. 

And  does  not  the  purification  consist,  as  we  have  said, 
in  separating  the  soul  from  the  body,  as  far  as  is  possible, 
and  in  accustoming  her  to  collect  and  rally  herself  together 
from  the  body  on  every  side,  and  to  dwell  alone  by  herself 
as  much  as  she  can  both  now  and  hereafter,  released  from 
the  bondage  of  the  body  ? 

Yes,  certainly,  he  said. 

Is  not  what  we  call  death  a  release  and  separation  of  the 
soul  from  the  body? 

Undoubtedly,  he  replied. 

And  the  true  philosopher,  we  hold,  is  alone  in  his  constant 
desire  to  set  his  soul  free  ?  His  study  is  simply  the  release 
and  separation  of  the  soul  from  the  body,  is  it  not  ? 

Clearly. 

Would  it  not  be  absurd  then,  as  I  began  by  saying,  for 
a jman  IcTroJaplain  at  death _  coming  to  him,  when  in  his  life 
hu  has  been  preparing  himself  to  live  as  nearly  in  a  state  of 
death  as  he  could  ?  Would  not  that  be  absurd  ? 

"Yes,  indeed. 

In  truth,  then,  Simmias,  he  said,  the  true  philosopher 
studies  to  die,  and  to  him  of  all  men  is  death  least  terrible. 
Now  look  at  the  matter  in  this  way.  In  everything  he  is 
at  enmity  with  his  body,  and  he  longs  to  possess  his  soul 
alone.  Would  it  not  then  be  most  unreasonable,  if  he  were 
to  fear  and  complain  when  he  has  his  desire,  instead  of 
rejoicing  to  go  to  the  place  where  he  hopes  to  gain  thq 
wisdom  that  he  has  passionately  longed  for  all  his  life, 
and  to  be  released  from  the  company  of  his  enemy  ?  Many 
a  man  has  willingly  gone  to  the  other  world,  when  a  human 
love,  or  wife  or  son  has  died,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  there 
those  whom  he  longed  for,  and  of  being  with  them:  and 
will  a  man  who  has  a  real  passion  for  wisdom,  and  a  firm, 


UQ 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


hope  of  really  finding  wisdom  in  the  other  world  and  no¬ 
where  else,  grieve  at  death,  and  not  depart  rejoicing?  Nay, 
my  friend,  you  ought  not.  to  think  that,  if  he  be  truly  a 
philosopher.  He  will  be  firmly  convinced  that  there  and 
nowhere  else  will  he  meet  with  wisdom  in  its  purity.  And 
if  this  be  so,  would  it  not,  I  repeat,  be  very  unreasonable 
for  such  a  man  to  fear  death? 

Yes,  indeed,  he  replied,  it  would. 

Does  not  this  show  clearly,  he  said,  that  any  man  whom 
you  see  grieving  at  the  approach  of  death,  is  after  all  no 
lover  of  wisdom,  but  a  lover  of  his  body  ?  He  is  also,  most 
likely,  a  lover  either  of  wealth,  or  of  honor,  or,  it  may  be, 
of  both. 

Yes,  he  said,  it  is  as  you  say. 

Well  then,  Si  mm  i  as,  he  went  on,  does  not  what  is  called 
courage  belong  especially  to  the  philosopher? 

Certainly  I  think  so,  he  replied. 

And  does  not  temperance,  the  quality  which  even  the 
world  calls  temperance,  and  which  means  to  despise  and 
control  and  govern  the  passions — does  not  temperance  be¬ 
long  only  to  such  men  as  most  despise  the  body,  and  pass 
their  lives  in  philosophy? 

Of  necessity,  he  replied. 

For  if  you  will  consider  the  courage  and  the  temperance 
of  other  men,  said  he,  you  will  find  that  they  are  strange 
things. 

How  so,  Socrates  ? 

You  know,  he  replied,  that  all  other  men  regard  death 
as  one  of  the  great  evils  to  which  mankind  are  subject  ? 

Indeed  they  do,  he  said. 

And  when  the  brave  men  of  them  submit  to  death,  do  not 
they  do  so  from  a  fear  of  still  greater  evils  ? 

Yes. 

Then  all  men  but  the  philosopher  are  brave  from  fear 
and  because  they  are  afraid.  Yet  it  is  rather  a  strange 
thing  for  a  man  to  be  brave  out  of  fear  and  cowardice. 

Indeed  it  is. 

And  arc  not  the  oAlerly  men  of  them  in  exactly  the  same 
case?  Are  not  they  temperate  from  a  kind  of  intemper* 


PHJ3D0. 


147 


ance?  We  should  say  that  this  cannot  he:  but  in  them 
this  state  of  foolish  temperance  comes  to  that.  They  de¬ 
sire  certain  pleasures,  and  fear  to  lose  them ;  and  so  they 
oi  A  'I  pleasures  because  they  are  mastered  by 
these.  Intemperance  is  defined  to  mean  being  under  the 
dominion  of  pleasure yet  they  only  master  certain,  pleas¬ 
ures  because  they  are  mastered  by  others.  -But  that  is  ex¬ 
actly  what  I  said  just  now,  that,  in  a  way,  they  are  made 
temperate  from  intemperance. 

It  seems  to  be  so. 

•  My  dear  Siramias,  I  fear  that  virtue  is  not  really  to  be 
bought  in  this  way,  by  bartering  pleasure  for  pleasure,  and 
pain  for  pain,  and  fear  for  fear,  and  the  greater  for  the 
less,  like  coins.  There  is  only  . one.  sterling  coin  for  which 
a  i 1  these  things  ought  tolae  exchanged,  and  that  is  wisdom. 
All  that  is  bought  and  sold'  for  this  and  with  this,  whether 
courage,  or  temperance,  or  justice,  is  real :  in  one  word 
true  virtue  cannot  be  without  wisdom,  and  it  matters  noth¬ 
ing  whether  pleasure,  and  fear,  and  all  other  such  things, 
are  present  or  absent.  But  I  think  that  the  virtue,  which  is 
composed  of  p1  ensures  and  fears  bartered  with  one  an- 
otTier,  and  severed  from  wisdom,  is  only  a  shadow'  of  true 
virtue,  and  that  it  has  no  freedom,  nor  health,  nor  inith. 
True  virtue  in  reality  is  a  kind  of  purifying JionnaUJhese 
things:  and  temperance,  and  justice,  and  courage,  and  wis¬ 
dom  itself,  are  the  purification.  And  I  fancy  that  the  men 
who  established  our  mysteries  had  a  very  real  meaning: 
in  truth  they  have  been  telling  us  in  parables  all  the  time 
ihat  whosoever  comes  to  Hades  uninitiated  and  profane, 
Avill  lie  in  the  mire;  while  he  that  has  been  purified  and. 
initiated  shall  dwell  with  the  gods.  For  ‘‘the  thyrsus- 
bearers  are  many,”  as  they  say  in  the  mysteries,  “  but  the 
inspired  few.”  And  by  these  last,  I  believe,  are  meant  only 
JJje  true  philosopher^  And  I  in  my  life  have  striven  as 
hard  as  I  was  able,  and  have  left  nothing  undone  that  I 
might  become  one  of  them.  "Whether  I  have  striven  in  the 
right  way,  and  whether  I  have  succeeded  or  not,  I  suppose 
that  I  shall  learn  in  a  little  while,  when  I  reach  the  other 
world,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God. 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


148 

That  is  my  defense,  Simmias  and  Cebes,  to  show  that  ! 
have  reason  for  not  being  angry  or  grieved  at  leaving  you 
and  my  masters  here.  I  believe  that  in  the  next  world, 
no  less  than  in  this,  I  shall  meet  with  good  masters  and 
friends,  though  the  multitude  are  incredulous  of  it.  And 
if  I  have  been  more  successful  with  you  in  my  defense  than 
I  was  with  my  Athenian  judges,  it  is  well. 

When  Socrates  had  finished,  Cebes  replied  to  him,  and 
said,  I  think  that  for  the  most  part  you  are  right,  Socrates. 
But  men  are  very  incredulous  of  what  you  have  said  of  the 
soul.  They  fear  that  she  will  no  longer  exist  anywhere 
when  she  has  left  the  body,  but  that  she  will  be  destroyed 
and  perish  on  the  very  day  of  death.  They  think  that  the 
moment  that  she  is  released  and  leaves  the  body,  she  will  be 
dissolved  and  vanish  away  like  breath  or  smoke,  and  thence¬ 
forward  cease  to  exist  at  all.  If  she  were  to  exist  some¬ 
where  as  a  whole,  released  from  the  evils  which  you  enu¬ 
merated  just  now,  we  should  have  good  reason  to  hope,  Soc¬ 
rates,  that  what  you  say  is  true.  But  it  will  need  no  little 
persuasion  and  assurance  to  show  that  the  soul  exists  after 
death,  and  continues  to  possess  any  power  or  wisdom. 

True,  Cebes,  said  Socrates;  but  what  are  we  to  do?  Do 
you  wish  to  converse  about  these  matters  and  see  if  what 
I  say  is  probable  ? 

I  for  one,  said  Cebes,  should  gladly  hear  your  opinion 
about  them. 

I  think,  said  Socrates,  that  no  one  who  heard  me  now, 
even  if  he  were  a  comic  poet,  would  say  that  I  am  an  idle 
talker  about  things  which  do  not  concern  me.  So,  if  you 
wish  it,  let  us  examine  this  question. 

Let  us  consider  whether  or  no  the  souls  of  men  exist  in 
the  next  world  after  death,  thus.  There  is  an  ancient  be¬ 
lief,  which  we  remember,  that  on  leaving  this  world  they 
exist  there,  and  that  they  return  hither  and  are  born  again 
from  the  dead.  But  if  it  be  true  that  the  living  are  bora 
from  the  dead,  our  souls  must  exist  in  the  other  world: 
otherwise  they  could  not  be  born  again.  It  will  be  a  suffi¬ 
cient  proof  that  this  is  so  if  we  can  really  prove  that  the 
living  are  born  only  from  the  dead.  But  if  this  is  not  so, 
we  shall  have  to  find  some  other  argument. 


PH^EDO. 


149 


Exactly,  said  Cebes. 

Well,  said  he,  the  easiest  way  of  answering  the  question 
will  be  to  consider  it  not  in  relation  to  men  only,  but 
also  in  relation  to  all  animals  and  plants,  and  in  short  to 
all  things  that  are  generated.  Is  it  the  case  that  every¬ 
thing,  which  has  an  opposite,  is  generated  only  from 
its  opposite.  By  opposites'  T "mean,  me  "honorable  and  the 
base,  tKe  just*’ and  the  unjust,  and  so  on  in  a  thousand 
other  instances.  Let  us  consider  then  whether  it  is  neces¬ 
sary  for  everything  that  has  an  opposite  to  be  generated 
only  from  its  own  opposite.  I’ or  instance,  when  anything 
becomes  greater,  I  suppose  it  must  Srstnave  "Been  less  and 
then  become  greater?  -  -«■  - 
'Tes.” 

And  if  a  thing  becomes  less,  it  must  have,  been  greater, 
and'  afterwards  becomes  legs  ? 

That  is  so,  said  he. 

And  further,  the  weaker  is  generated  from  the  stronger, 
and  tire  swifter  from  the  slower  ? 

"UertamTy. 

And  the  worse  is  generated  from  the  better,  and  the 
.more  Just  from  the  -more  un  j  ust  ? 

Of  course. 

Then  it  is  sufficiently,  clear  to  us  that  all  tilings  are  gen¬ 
erated  in  this  way,  opposites  from  opposites? 

Quite  so. 

And  in  every  pair  of  opposites,  are  there  not  two  genera¬ 
tions  between  the  two  members  of  the  pair,  from  the  one 
to  the  other,  and  then  back  again  from  the  other  to  the 
first?  Between  the  greater  and  the  less  are  growth  and 
diminution,  and  we  say  that  the  one  grows  and  the  other 
diminishes,  do  we  not  ? 

Yes,  he  said. 

And  there  is  division  and  composition,  and  cold  and  hot, 
and  so  on.  In  fact  is  it  not  a  universal  law,  even  though 
we  do  not  always  express  it  in  so  many  words,  that  oppo¬ 
sites  are  generated  always  from  one  another,  and  that  there 
is  a  process  of  generation  from  one  to  the  other? 

It  is,  he  replied. 


150 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Well,  said  he,  is  there  an  opposite  to  life,  in  the  same 
way  that  sleep  is  the  opposite  .of  being  awake  ? 

Certainly,  he  answered. 

iVhat  is  it  ? 

Death,  he  replied. 

Then  if  life  and  death  are  opposites,  they  are  generated 
the  one  from  the  other:  they  are  two,  and  between  them 
there  are  two  generations.  Is  it  not  so  ? 

Of  course. 

Now,  said  Socrates,  I  will  explain  to  yon  one  of  the  two 
pairs  of  opposites  of  which  I  spoke  just  now,  and  its  gen¬ 
erations,  and  you  shall  explain  to  me  the  other.  Sleep  is 
the  opposite  of  waking.  From  sleep  is  produced  the  state 
of  waking:  and  from  the  state  of  waking  is  produced  sleep. 
Their  generations  are,  first,  to  fall  asleep;  secondly,  to 
awake.  Is  that  clear?  he  asked. 

Yes,  quite. 

Now  then,  said  he,  do  you  tell  me  about  life  and  death. 
Death  is  the  opposite  of  life,  is  it  not? 

It  is. 

And  they  are  generated  the  one  from  the  other? 

Yes. 

Then  what  is  that  which  is  generated  from  the  living  ? 

The  dead,  he  replied. 

And  what  is  generated  from  the  dead  ? 

I  must  admit  that  it  is  the  living. 

Then  living  things  and  living  men  are  generated  from 
the  dead,  Cebes? 

Clearly,  said  he. 

Then  our  souls  exist  in  the  other  world  ?  he  said. 

Apparently. 

Now  of  these  two  generations  the  one  is  certain?  Death 
I  suppose  is  certain  enough,  is  it  not  ? 

Yes,  quite,  he  replied. 

What  then  shall  we  do?  said  he.  Shall  we  not  assign 
an  opposite  generation  to  correspond  ?  Or  is  nature  im¬ 
perfect  here  ?  Must  we  not  assign  some  opposite  generation 
to  dying? 

I  think  so,  certainly,  he  said. 


PHJEDO. 


151 


-And  what  must  it  be? 

To  come  to  life  again. 

And  if  there  be  such  a  thing  as  a  return  to  life,  he  said, 
it  vTill  be  a  generation  from  the  dead  to  the  living,  willit 
not? 

It  will,  certainly. 

Then  we  are  agreed  on  this  point :  namely,  that  the  living 
are  generated  from  the  dead  no  less  than  the  dead  from  the 
living.  But  we  agreed  that,  if  this  be  so,  it  is  a  sufficient 
proof  that  the  souls  of  the  dead  must  exist  somewhere, 
whence  they  come  into  being  again. 

I  think,  Socrates,  that  that  is  the  necessary  result  of 
our  premises. 

And  I  think,  Cebes,  said  he,  that  our  conclusion  has  not 
been  an  xmfair  one.  For  if  opposites  did  not  always  corre¬ 
spond  with  opposites  as  they  are  generated,  moving  as  it 
were  round-  in  a  circle,  and  there  were  generation  in  a 
straight  line  forward  from  one  opposite  only,  with  no  turn¬ 
ing  or  return  to  the  other,  then,  you  know,  all  things  would 
come  at  length  to  have  the  same  form  and  be  in  the  same 
state,  and  would  cease  to  be  generated  at  all. 

What  do  you  mean  ?  he  asked. 

It  is  not  at  all  hard  to  understand  my  meaning,  he  re¬ 
plied.  If,  for  example,  the  one  opposite,  to  go  to  sleep,  ex¬ 
isted,  without  the  corresponding  opposite,  to  wake  up, 
which  is  generated  from  the  first,  then  all  nature  would  at 
last  make  the  tale  of  Endymion  meaningless,  and  lie  would 
no  longer  be  conspicuous;  for  everything  else  would  be  in 
the  same  state  of  sleep  that  he  was  in.  And  if  all  things 
were  compounded  together  and  never  separated,  the  Chaos 
of  Anaxagoras  would  soon  be  realized.  Just  in  the  same 
way,  my  dear  Cebes,  if  all  things,  in  which  there  is  any  life, 
were  to  die,  and  when  they  were  dead  were  to  remain  in 
that  form  and  not  come  to  life  again,  would  not  the  neces¬ 
sary  result  be  that  evearything  at  last  would  be  dead,  and 
nothing  alive?  For  if  living  things  were  generated  from 
other  sources  than  death,  and  were  to  die,  the  result  is 
inevitable  that  all  things  would  be  consumed  by  death.  Is 
it  not  so? 


152 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


It  is  indeed,  I  think,  Socrates,  said  Cebes;  I  think  that 
■what  you  say  is  perfectly  true. 

Yes,  Cebes,  he  said,  1  think  it  is  certainly  so.  We  are 
not  itiisled  into  this  conclusion.  The  dead  do  come  to  life 
again,  and  the  living  are  generated  from  them,  and  the 
souls  of  the  dead  exist ;  and  with  the  souls  of  the  good  it  is 
well,  and  with  the  s'duls  of  the  evil  it  is  evil. 

And  besides,  Socrates,  rejoined  Cebes,  if  the  doctrine 
which  you  are  fond  of  stating,  that  our  learningTs~ only 
a  process  of  recollection,  he  ini  >.  then  1  suppose  we  must 
have  learnt  at  some  'former  time  what  w»  recolh  et  now 
And  that  would  be  impossible  unless  our  souls  had  exi  d 
somewhere  "before  they  came  into  this  human  form.  So 
that  is  another  reason  for  believing  the  soul  immortal. 

But,  Cebes,  interrupted  Simmias,  what  are  the  proofs 
of  that?  Bocall  them  to  me:  I  am  not  very  clear  about 
them  at  present. 

One  argument,  answered  Cebes,  and  the  strongest  of  all, 
is  that  if  you  question  men  about  anything  in  the  right 
way,  they  will  answer  you  correctly  of  themselves.  But 
they  would  not  have  been  able  to  do  that,  unless  they  had 
had  within  themselves  knowledge  and  right  reason.  Again, 
show  them  such  things  as  geometrical  diagrams,  and  the 
proof  of  the  doctrine  is  complete. 

And  if  that  does  not  convince  you,  Simmias,  said  Soc¬ 
rates,  look  at  the  matter  in  another  way  and  see  if  you  agree 
then.  You  have  doubts,  I  know,  how  what  is  called  knowl¬ 
edge  can  be  recollection. 

Nay,  replied  Simmias,  I  do  not  doubt.  But  I  want  to 
recollect  the  argument  about  recollection.  What  Cebes 
undertook  to  explain  has  nearly  brought  your  theory  back 
to  me  and  convinced  me.  But  I  am  none  the  less  ready 
to  hear  how  you  undertake  to  explain  it. 

In  this  way,  he  returned.  We  are  agreed,  I  suppose, 
that  if  a  man" remembers  anything,  he  must  have  known  it 
at  some  previous  time. 

Certainly,  he  said. 

And  are  we  agreed  that  when  knowledge  comes  m  the 
following  way,  it  is  recollection  ?  When  a  man  has  seen  or 


PH^DO. 


153 


"heard  anything,  or  has  perceived  it  by  some  other  sense, 
and  then  knows  not  that  thing  only,  but  has  also  in  his 
mind  an  impression  of  some  other  thing,  of  which  the 
knowledge  is  quite  different,  are  we  not  right  in  saying.that 
he  remembers  the  thing  of  which  he  has  an  impression  in 
his  mind  ? 

What  do  you  mean  ? 

I  mean  this.  The  knowledge  of  a  man  is  different  from 
the  knowledge  of  a  lyre,  is  it  not  ? 

Certainly. 

And  you  know  that  when  lovers  see  a  lyre,  or  a  garment, 
or  anything  that  their  favorites  are  wont  to  use,  they  have 
this  feeling.  They  know  the  lyre,  and  in  their  mind  they 
receive  the  image  of  the  youth  whose  the  lyre  was.  That 
is  recollection.  For  instance,  some  one  seeing  Simmias 
often  is  reminded  of  Cebes;  and  there  are  endless  examples 
of  the  same  thing. 

Indeed  there  are,  said  Simmias. 

Is  not  that  a  kind  of  recollection,  he  said;  and  more  es¬ 
pecially  when  a  man  has  this  feeling  with  reference  to 
things  which  the  lapse  of  time  and  inattention  have  made 
him  forget? 

Yes,  certainly,  he  replied. 

Well,  he  went  on,  is  it  possible  to  recollect  a  man  on  see¬ 
ing' the  picture  of  a  horse,  or  the  picture  of  a  lyre?  or  to 
recall  Simmias  on  seeing  a  picture  of  Cebes  ? 

Certainly. 

And  is  it  possible  to  recollect  Simmias  himself  on  seeing 
a  picture  of  Simmias? 

Fo  doubt,  he  said. 

Then  in  all  these  cases  there  is  recollection,  caused  by 
similar  objects,  and  also  by  dksmiffar  -objects  ? 

There  is. 

But  when  a  man  has  a  recollection  caused  by  similar  ob¬ 
jects,  will  he  not  have  a  further  feeling,  and  consider 
whether  the  likeness  to  that  which  he  recollects  is  defective 
in  any  way  or  not? 

He  will,  he  said. 

How  see  if  this  is  true,  he  went  on.  Ho  we  not  believe 


154 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


in  the  existence  of  equality. — not  the  equality  of  pieces  of 
wood,  or  of  stones;  but  something  beyond  that, — equality 
in  the  abstract  ?  Shall  we  say  that  there  is  such  a  thing, 
or  not? 

Yes  indeed,  said  Simmias,  most  emphatically  we  will. 

And  do  we  know  what  this  abstract  equality  is  ? 

Certainly,  he  replied. 

Where  did  we  get  the  knowledge  of  it?  Was  it  not  from 
seeing  the  equal  pieces  of  wood,  and  stones,  and  the  like, 
which  we  were  speaking  of  just  now?  Did  we  not  form 
from  them  the  idea  of  abstract  equality,  which  is  different 
from  them?  Or  do  you  think  that  it  is  not  different? 
Consider  the  question  in  this  way.  Do  not  equal  pieces  of 
wood  and  stones  appear  to  us  sometimes  equal,  and  some-  s 
times  unequal,  though  in  fact  they  remain  the  same  all  the 
time? 

Certainly  they  do. 

But  did  absolute  equals  ever  seem  to  you  to  be  unequal, 
or  abstract  equality  to  be  inequality? 

No,  never,  Socrates. 

T1  ion  equal. things,. he  .said,  are.  not  the  same  as  abstract 

equality?' 

No,  certainly  not,  Socrates. 

Yet  it  was  from  these  equal  things,  he  said,  which  are 
diff  nt  from  abstract  equality,  that  you  have  conceived 
and  got  your  knowledge. of  abstract  equality? 

That  is  quite  true,  he  replied. 

And  that  whether  it  is  like  them  or  unlike  them? 

Certainly. 

But  that  makes  no  difference,  he  said.  As  long  as  the 
sight  of  one  thing  brings  another  thing  to  your  mind,  there 
must  be  recollection,  whether  or  no  the  two  things  are  like. 

That  is  so. 

Well  then,  said  he,  do  the  equal  pieces  of  wood,  and 
other  similar  equal  things,  of  which  we  have  been  speaking, 
affect  us  at  all  in  this  way?  Do  they  seem  to  us  to  be 
equal,  in  the  way  that  abstract  equality  is  equal  ?  Do  they 
come  short  of  being  like  abstract  equality,  or  not? 

Indeed,  they  come  very  short  of  it,  he  replied. 


PHJEDO. 


155 


Are  we  agreed  about  this?  A  man  sees  something  and 
thinks  to  himself,  “This  thing  that  I  see  aims  at  being 
like  some  other  thing;  but  it  conies  short,  and  cannot  be 
like  that  other  thing;  it  is  inferior:  ”  must  not' the  man  who 
thinks  that,  have  known  at  some  previous  time  that  other 
thing,  which  he. says  that  it  resembles,  and  to' which  it  is 
inferior,? 

He  must. 

Well,  have  we  ourselves  had  the  same  sort  of  feeling  with 
reference  to  equal  things,  and  to  abstract  equality  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

Then  we  must  have  had  knowledge  of  equality  before  we 
first  saw  equal  things,  and  perceived  that  they  all  strive  to 
be  like  equality,  and  all  come  short  of  it. 

-That  is  so.  J\-, 

And  we  are.  agreed  also  that  we  have  noi.  nor  could  we 
Lave,  obtained., the  idea  of  equality  except  from  sight  or 
touch  or  some  other  sense:  the  same  is  true  of  all  the  senses.  ' 

Yes,  Socrates,  for  the  purposes  of  the  argument  that  is 
so. 

At  any  rate  it  is  by  the  senses  that  we  must  perceive  that 
all  sensible  objects  strive  to  resemble  absolute  equality, 
and  are  inferior  to  it.  Is  not  that  so  ? 

Yes. 

Then  before  we  began  to  see,  and  to  hear,  and  to  use  the 
other  senses,  we  must  have  received  the  knowledge  of  the 
nature  of  abstract  and  real  equality ;  otherwise  we  could  not 
have  compared  equal  sensible  objects  with  abstract  equality, 
and  seen  that  the  former  in  all  cases  strive  to  be  like  the 
latter,  though  they  are  always  inferior  to  it  ? 

That  is  the  necessary  consequence  of  what  we  have  been 
saying,  Socrates. 

Did  we  not  see,  and  hear,  and  possess  the  other  senses 
as  soon  as  we  were  born  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

And  we  must  have  received  the  knowledge  of  abstract 
equality  before  we  had  these  senses  ? 

'Yes. 


156 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Then,  it  seems,  we  must  have  received  that  knowledge 
before  we  were  born? 

It  does. 

Now  if  we  received  this  knowledge  before  our  birth,  and 
were  born  with  it.  we  knew,  both  before,  and  at  the  moment 
of  our  birth,  not  only  the  equal,  and  the  greater,  and  the 
less,  but  also  everything  of  the  same  kind,  did  we  not? 
Our  present  reasoning  does  not  refer  only  to  equality.  It 
refers  just  as  much  to  absolute  good,  and  absolute  beauty, 
and  absolute  justice,  and  absolute  holiness;  in  short,  I  re¬ 
peat,  to  everything  which  we  mark  with  the  name  of  the 
real,  in  the  questions  and  answers  pf  our  dialectic.  So  we 
must  have  received  our  knowledge  of  all  realities  before  we 
were  boxn. 

That  is  so. 

And  we  must  always  be  horn  with  this  knowledge,  and 
must  always  retain  it  throughout  life,  if  we  have  not  each 
time  forgotten  it,  after  having  received  it.  For  to  know 
meangjo  receive  and  retain  knowledge,  and  not  to  have  lost 
it.  Bo  not  we  mean  by  forgetting  the  loss  of  knowledge, 
Simmias  ? 

Yes,  certainly,  Socrates,  he  said. 

But,  I  suppose,  if  it  be  the  case  that  we  lost  at  birth  the 
knowledge  which  we  received  before  we  werchorn,  arnTThen 
afterwards,  by  using  our 'senses  on  the  objects  of  sense,  re¬ 
covered  the,  knowledge  which  we  liad  previously  possessed, 
then  what  we  call  learning  i§.  the  recovering  of  knowledge 
which  is  already  ours.  And  are  wc  not  right  in  calling  that 
recollection  ? 

Certainly. 

For  we  have  found  it  possible  to  perceive  a  thing  by 
sight,  or  hearing,  or  any  other  sense,  and  thence  to  form 
a  notion  of  some  other  thing,  like  or  unlike,  which  had 
been  forgotten,  but  with  which  this  thing  was  associated. 
And  therefore,  I  say,  one  of  two  things  must  be  true. 
Either  we  are  all  horn  with  this  knowledge,  and  retain  it 
all  our  life;  or.  after  birth,  those  whom  we  say  are  learning 
are  only  recollecting,  and  our  knowledge  is  recollection. 

Yes  indeed,  that  is  undoubtedly  true,  Socrates. 


UHvEDO. 


157 


Then  which  do  you  choose,  Simmias  ?  Are  we  born  with 
knowledge,  or  do  we  recollect  the  things  of  which  we  have 
received  knowledge  before  our  birth? 

I  cannot  say  at  present,  Socrates. 

Well,  have  you  an  opinion  about  this  question  ?  Can  a 
man  who  knows  give  an  account  of  what  he  knows,  or  not  ? 
Whaf  do  You  think  about  that  ? 

Yes,  of  .  CQurse  he  can,  Socrates. 

And  do  you  think  that  every  one  can  give  an  account 
of  the  ideas  of  which  rve  have  been  speaking? 

I  wish  I  did,  indeed,  said  Simmias  :  but  I  am  very  Such 
afraid  that  by  this  time  to-morrow  there  will  no  longer 
be  any  man  living  able  to  do  so  as  it  should  be  done. 

Then,  Simmias,  he  said,  you  do  not  think  that  all  men 
know  these  things? 

Certainly  not. 

Then  they  recollect  what  they  once  learned? 

Necessarily. 

And  when  did  our  souls  gain, this  knowledge?  It  cannot 
have  been  after  we  were  born  men. 

No,  certainly  not. 

Then  it  was  before  ? 

Yes. 

Then,  Simmias,  our  souls  existed  formerly,  apart  from 
our  bodies,  and  possessed  intelligence  before  they  came  into 
man’s  shape.1 

Unless  we  receive  this  knowledge  at  the  moment  of  birth, 
Socrates.  That  time  still  remains. 

Well,'  my  friend :  and  at  what  other  time  do  we  lose  it  ? 
We  agreed  just  now  that  we  are  not  born  with  it:  do 'we 
lose  it  at  the  same  moment  that  we  gain  it  ?  or  can  you 
suggest  any  other  time  ? 

I  cannot,  Socrates.  I  did  not  see  that  I  was  talking 
nonsense. 

Then,  Simmias,  he  said,  is  not  this  the  truth?  If,  as 
we  are  forever  repeating,  beauty,  and  good,  and  the  other 
ideas  really  exist,  and  if  we  refer  all  the  objects  of  sensible 

1  Cf.  Wordsworth’s  famous  Ode  on  Intimations  of  Immortality . 
It  must  be  noticed  that  in  one  respect  Wordsworth  exactly  re- 


158 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


perception  .to  these  ideas  which  were  formerly  ours,  and 
which  we  find  to  lie  ours  still,  and  compare  sensible  objects 
with  them,  then,  just  as  they  exist,  our  souls  must  have  ex¬ 
isted  before  ever  we  were  born.  But  if  they  do  not  exist, 
then  our  reasoning  will  have  been  thrown  away.  Is  it  so? 
If  these  ideas  exist,  does  it  not  at  once  follow  that  our 
souls  must  have  existed  before  we  were  born,  and  if  they  do 
not  exist,  then  neither  did  our  souls  ? 

Admirably  put,  Socrates,  said  Simmias.  I  think  that 
the  necessity  is  the  same  for  the  one  as  for  the  other.  The 
reasoning  has  reached  a  place  of  safety  in  the  common 
proof  of  the  existence  of  our  souls  before  we  were  born, 
and  of  the  existence  of  the  ideas  of  which  you  spoke. 
Nothing  is  so  evident  to  me  as  that  beauty,  and  good,  and 
the  other  ideas,  which  you  spoke  of  just  now,  have  a  very 
real  existence  indeed.  Your  proof  is  quite  sufficient  for 
me. 

j  But  what  of  Cebes?  said  Socrates.  I  must  convince 
Cebes  too. 

I  think  that  he  is  satisfied,  said  Simmias,  though  he  is 
the  most  skeptical  of  men  in  argument  But  I  think  that 
he  is  perfectly  convinced  that  our  souls  existed  before  we 
were  born. 

But  I  do  not  think  myself,  Socrates,  he  continued,  that 
you  have  proved  that  the  soul  will  continue  to  exist  when 
we  are  dead.  The  common  fear  which  Cebes  spoke  of,  that 
she  may  be  scattered  to  the  winds  at  death,  and  that  death 
may  be  the  end  of  her  existence,  still  stands  in  the  way. 
Assuming  that  the  soul  is  generated  and  comes  together 
from  some  other  elements,  and  exists  before  she  ever  en¬ 
ters  the  human  body,  why  should  she  not  come  to  an  end 
and  be  destroyed,  after  she  has  entered  into  the  body, 
when  she  is  released  from  it  ? 

You  are  right,  Simmias,  said  Cebes.  I  think  that  only 
half  the  required  pioof  has  been  given.  It  has  been  shown 

verses  Plato’s  theory.  With  Wordsworth  “  Heaven  lies  about  us 
in  our  infancy  ”  :  and  as  we  grow  to  manhood  we  gradually  for¬ 
get  it.  With  Plato,  we  lose  the  knowledge  which  we  possessed 
in  a  prior  state  of  existen/e,  at  birth,  and  recover  it,  as  we  grow 
up. 


PHiEDO. 


159 


that  our  souls  existed  before  we  'were  born;  but  it  must 
also  be  shown  that  our  souls  will  continue  to  exist  after 
we  are  dead,  no  less  than  that  they  existed  before  we  were 
born,  if  the  proof  is  to  be  complete. 

That  has  been  shown  already,  Simmias  and  Cebes,  said 
Socrates,  if  you  will  combine  this  reasoning  with  our  pre¬ 
vious  conclusion,  that  all  life  is  generated  from  death.  For 
if  the  soul  exists  in  a  previous  state,  and  if  when  she  comes 
into  life  and  is  born,  she  can  only  be  born  from  death,  and 
from  a  state  of  death,  must  she  not  exist  after  death  too, 
since  she  has  to  be  born  again  ?  So  the  point  which  you 
speak  of  has  been  already  proved. 

Still  I  think  that  you  and  Simmias  would  be  glad  to 
discuss  this  question  further.  Like  children,  you  are  afraid 
that  the  wind  will  really  blow  the  soul  away  and  disperse 
her  when  she  leaves  the  body ;  especially  if  a  man  happens 
to  die  in  a  storm  and  not  in  a  calm. 

Cebes  laughed  and  said,  Try  and  convince  us  as  if  we 
were  afraid,  Socrates:  or  rather,  do  not  think  that  we  are 
afraid  ourselves.  Perhaps  there  is  a  child  within  us  who 
has  thgse  fears.  Let  us  try  arid  persuade  him  not  to  be 
afraid  of  death,  as  if  it  were  a  bugbear. 

You  must  charm  him  every  day,  until  you  have  charmed 
him  away,  said  Socrates. 

And  where  shall  we  find  a  good  charmer,  Socrates,  lie 
asked,  now  that  you  are  leaving  us? 

Hellas  is  a  large  country,  Cebes,  he  replied,  and  good 
men  may  doubtless  be  found  in  it ;  and  the  nations  of  the 
Barbarians  are  many.  You  must  search  them  all  through 
for  such  a  charmer,  sparing  neither  money  nor  labor:  for 
there  is  nothing,  on  which  you  could  spend  .money  more 
profitably.  And  you  must  search  for  him  among  your¬ 
selves  too,  for  you  will  hardly  find  a  better  charmer  than 
yourselves. 

That  shall  be  done,  said  Cebes.  But  let  us  return  to  the 
point  where  we  left  off,  if  you  will. 

Yes,  I  will:  why  not? 

Very  good,  he  replied. 

Well,  said  Socrates,  must  we  not  ask  ourselves  this  ques- 


100 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


tion?  What  kind  of  thing  is  liable  to  suffer  dispersion, 
and  for  what  kind  of  thing  have  we  to  fear  dispersion? 
And  then  we  must  see  whether  the  soul  belongs  to  that 
kind  or  not,  and  be  confident  or  afraid  about  our  own  souls' 
accordingly. 

That  is  true,  he  answered.  .  ; 

Now  is  it  not  the  compound, and  composite  which  is 
naturally  liable  to  be  dissolved  in  the  same  way  in  which 
it  was  compounded  ?  And  is  not  what  is  uncompounded 
alone  not  liable  to  dissolution,  if  anything  is  not? 

I  think  that  that  is  so,  said  Cebes. 

And  what  always  remains  in  the  same  state  and  unchang¬ 
ing  is  most  likely  to  be  uncompounded,  and  what  is  always 
changing  and  never  the  same  is  most  likely  to  be  com¬ 
pounded,  I  suppose? 

Yes,  I  think  so. 

Now  let  us  return  to  what  we  were  speaking  of  before 
in  the  discussion,  he  said.  Does  the  being,  which  in  our 
dialectic  we  define  as  meaning  absolute  existence,  remain 
always  in  exactly  the  same  state,  or  does  it  change?  Do 
absolute  equality,  absolute  beauty,  and  every  other  absolute 
existence,  admit  of  any  change  at  all?  or  does  absolute 
existence,  in  each  ease,  being  essentially  uniform,  remain 
the  same  and  unchanging,  and  never  in  any  case,  admit  of 
any  sort  or  kind  of  change  whatsoever? 

It  must  remain  the  same  and  unchanging,  Socrates,  said 
Cebes. 

And  what  of  the  many  beautiful  things,  such  as  men, 
and  horses,,  and  garments,  nmI..iJmJikp—nmi  of  a|l  which 
bears  the  names  of  the  ideas,  whcthcr.equul,  or  beautiful, 
or  anything  else?  Do  they  remain  the  same,  or  is  it  ex¬ 
actly  the  opposite  with  them?  In  short,  do  they  never  re¬ 
main  the  same  at  alUeitlmr  in  themselves  or  in  their  rela¬ 
tions  ? 

These  things,  said  Cebes,  never  remain  the  same. 

You  can  touch  them,  and  see,  them,,  and  perceive  them 
with  the  other  senses.,  while  you  can  grasp  the  unchanging 
only  by  the  reasoning  of  the  mJeTTecTT  These  flatter  are 
invisible  and  not  seen.  Is  it  nor  so? 


PHiEDO. 


161 


That  is  perfectly  true,  he  said. 

Let  us  assume  then,  he  said,  if  you  will,  that  there  are 
two  kinds  of  existence,  the  one  visible,  the  other  invisible. 

Yes,  he  said.  . 

And  the  invisible,  is  unchanging-,  while  the  visible  is 

always  changing. 

Yes,  he  said  again. 

Are  not  we  men  made  up  of  body  and  soul? 

There  is  nothing  else,  he  replied. 

And  which  of  these  kinds  of  existence  should  we  say  that 
the  body  is  most  like,  and  most  akin  to  ? 

The  visible,  he  replied ;  that  is  quite  obvious. 

And  the  soul?  Is  that  visible  or  invisible? 

It  is  invisible  to  man,  Socrates,  he  said. 

But  we  mean  by  visible  and  invisible,  visible  and  in¬ 
visible  to  man ;  do  we  not  ? 

Yes;  that  is  what  we  mean. 

Then  what  do  we  say  of  the  soul?  Is  it  visible,  or  not 
visible  ? 

It  is  not  visible. 

Then  it  is  invisible  ? 

Yes. 

Then  the  soul  is  more  like  the  invisible  than  the  body; 
and” the  body  is  like  the  visible. 

That  is  necessarily  so,  Socrates. 

Have  we  not  also  said  that,  when  the  soul  employs  the 
body  in  any  inquiry,  and  makes  use  of  sight,  or  hearing, 
of  any  other  sense, — for  inquiry  with  the  body  means 
inquiry  with  the  senses, — she  is  dragged  .-away  by  it  to 
the  things  which  never  remain  the  same,  and  wanders  about 
blindly*  and  becomes  confused  and  dizzy,  like  a  drunken 
man,  from  dealing  with  things  that  are  ever  changing  ? 

Certainly. 

But  whep  she  investigates  any  question  by  herself,  she 
goes  away” to  the  pure,  and  eternal,  and  immortal,  and 
unchangeable,  to  which  she  is  akin,  and  so  she  comes  to  be 
ever  with  it,  as  soon  as  she  is  by  herself,  and  can  be  so: 
and  then  she  rests  from  her  wanderings,  and  dwells  with 
it  unchangingly,  for  she  is  dealing  with  what  is  upchang- 


162 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


ing ?  And  is  not  this  state  of  the  soul  called  wisdom? 

Indeed,  Socrates,  you  speak  well  and  truly,  he  replied. 

Which  kind  of  existence  do  you  think  from  our  former 
and  our  present  arguments  that  the  soul  is  more  like  and 
more  akin  to? 

I  think,  Socrates,  he  replied,  that  after  this  inquiry 
the  very  dullest  man  would  agree  that  the  soul  is  infinitely 
more  like  the  unchangeable  than  the  changeable. 

And  the  body? 

That  is  like  the  changeable. 

Consider  the  matter  in  yet  another  way.  When  the  soul 
and  the  body  are  united,  nature  ordains  the  one  to  be  a 
slave  and  to  be  ruled,  and  the  other  to  be  master  and  to 
rule.  Tell  me  once  again,  which  do  you  think  Is  like  the 
divine,  and  which  is  like  the  mortal?  Do  you  not  think 
that  the  divine  naturally  rules  and  has  authorit}r,  and  that 
the  mortal  naturally  is  ruled  and  is  a  slave  ? 

I  do. 

Then  which  is  the  soul  like? 

That  is  quite  plain,  Socrates.  The  soul  .isji&  the  di¬ 
vine,  and  the  body  is  like  the  mortal. 

Now  tell  me,  Cebes;  is  the  result  of  all  that  we  have 
said  that  the  soul  is  most  like  the  divine,  and  the  immortal, 
and  the  intelligible,  and  the  uniform,  and  the  indissoluble, 
and  the  unchangeable;  while  the  body  is  most  like  the 
human,  and  the  mortal,  and  the  unintelligible,  and  the 
multiform,  and  the  dissoluble,  and  the  changeable?  Have 
we  any  other  argument  to  show  that  this  is  not  so,  my  dear 
Cebes? 

We  have  not. 

Then  if  this  is  so,  is  it  not  the  nature  of  the  body  to  be 
dissolved  quickly,  and  of  the  soul  to  be  wholly  or  very 
nearly  indissoluble? 

Certainly. 

You  observe,  he  said,  that  after  a  man  is  dead,  the 
visible  part  of  him,  his  body,  which  lies  in  the  visible 
world,  and  which  we  call  the  corpse,  which  is  subject  to 
dissolution  and  decomposition,  is  not  dissolved  and  de¬ 
composed  at  once?  It  remains  as  it  was  for  a  consider- 


PHJEDO. 


163 


able  time,  and  even  for  a  long  time,  if  a  man  dies  with 
his  body  in  good  condition,  and  in  the  vigor  of  life.  And 
when  the  body  falls  in  and  is  embalmed,  like  the  mummies 
of  Egypt,  it  remains  nearly  entire  for  an  immense  time. 
And  should  it  decay,  yet  some  parts  of  it,  such  as  the  bones 
and  muscles,  may  almost  be  said  to  be  immortal.  Is  it 
not  so? 

Yes. 

And  shall  we  believe  that  the  soul,  which  is  invisible, 
and  which  goes  hence  to  a  place. that  is  like  herself,  glori¬ 
ous,  and  pure,  and  invisible,  to  Hades,  which  is  rightly 
called  the  unseen  world,  to  dwell  with  the  good  and  wise 
God,  Avhither,  if  it  be  the  will  of  God,  my  soul  too  must 
shortly  go; — shall  we  believe  that  the  soul,,  whose  nature 
is  so  glorious,  and  pure,  and  invisible,  is  blown  away  by 
the  winds  and  perishes  as  soon  as  she  leaves  the  body,  as 
the  world  says?  YYy,  dear  Cebes,  and  Simmias,  it  is  not 
so.  I  will  tell  you  what  happens  to  a  soul  which  is  pure 
at  her  departure,  and  which  in  her  life  has  had  no  inter¬ 
course  that  she  could  avoid  with  the  body,  and  so  draws 
after  her,  when  she  dies,  no  taint  of  the  body,  but  has 
shunned  it,  and  gathered  herself  into  herself,  for  such, 
has  been  her  constant  duty ; — and  that  only  means  that 
she  has  loved  wisdom  rightly,  and  has  truly  practiced  how 
to  die.  Is  not  this  the  practice  of  death  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

Does  not  the  soul,  then,  which  is  in  that  state,  go  away 
to  the  invisible  that  is  like  herself,  and  to  the  divine,  and 
the  immortal,  and  the  wise,  where  she  is  released  from 
error,  and  folly,  and  fear,  and  fierce  passions,  and  all  the 
other  evils  that  fall  to  the  lot  of  men,  and  is  happy,  and 
for  the  rest  of  time  lives  in  very  truth  with  the  gods,  as 
they  say  that'  the  initiated  do?  Shall  we  affirm  this, 
Cebes? 

Yes,  certainly,  said  Cebes. 

But  if  she  be  defiled  and  impure  when  she  leaves  the 
body,  from  being  ever  with  it,  and  serving  it  and  loving 
it,  and  from  being  besotted  by  it,  and  by  its  desires  and 
pleasures,  so  that  she  thinks  nothing  true,  but  what  is 


164 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


bodily,  and  can  bo  touched,  and  seen,  and  eaten,  and  drunk, 
and  used  for  men’s  lusts;  if  she  lias  learned  to  hate,  and 
tremble  at,  and  fly  from  what  is  dark  and  invisible  to  the 
eye,  and  intelligible  and  aprehended  by  philosophy — do 
you  think  that  a  soul  which  is  in  that  state  will  be  pure 
and  without  alloy  at  her  departure? 

Yo,  indeed,  he  replied. 

She  is  penetrated,  I  suppose,  by  the  corporeal,  which  the 
unceasing  intercourse  and  company  and  care  of  the  body 
has  made  a  part  of  her  nature. 

Yes. 

And,  my  dear  friend,  the  corporeal  must  be  burdensome, 
and  heavy,  and  earthy,  and  visible;  and  it  is  by  this  that 
such  a  soul  is  weighed  down  and  dragged  back  to  the 
visible  world,  because  she  is  afraid  of  the  invisible  world 
of  Hades,  and  haunts,  it  is  said,  the  graves  and  tombs, 
where  shadowy  forms  of  souls  have  been  seen,  which  are 
the  phantoms  of  souls  which  were  impure  at  their  release, 
and  still  cling  to  the  visible;  which  is  the  reason  why  they 
are  seen. 

That  is  likely  enough,  Socrates. 

That  is  likely,  certainly,  Cebes:  and  these  are  not  the 
souls  of  the  good,  but  of  the  evil,  which  are  compelled  to 
wander  in  such  places  as  a  punishment  for  the  wicked 
lives  that  they  have  lived ;  and  their  wanderings  continue 
until,  from  the  desire  for  the  corporeal  that  clings  to  them, 
they  are  again  imprisoned  in  a  body. 

And,  he  continued,  they  are  imprisoned,  probably,  in 
the  bodies  of  animals  with  habits  similar  to  the  habits 
which  were  theirs  in  their  lifetime. 

What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Socrates? 

I  mean  that  men  who  have  practiced  unbridled  gluttony, 
and  wantonness,  and  drunkenness,  probably  enter  the 
bodies  of  asses,  and  suchlike  animals.  Do  you  not  think 
so? 

Certainly  that  is  very  likely. 

And  those  who  have  chosen  injustice,  and  tyranny,  and 
robbery,  enter  the  bodies  of  wolves,  and  hawks,  and  kites, 
Where  else  should  we  say  that  such  souls  go  ? 


PHiEDO. 


165 


ISTo  doubt,  said  Cebes,  they  go  into  such  animals. 

In  short,  it  is  quite  plain,  he  said,  whither  each  soul 
goes;  each  enters  an  animal  with  habits  like  its  own. 

Certainly,  he  replied,  that  is  so. 

And  of  these,  he  said,  the  happiest,  who  go  to  the  best, 
place,  are  those  who  hqye  practiced-the- popular  and  social 
virtues  which  are  called  .temperance  and  justice,  and 
win  1  come  from  habit  and  practice,  without  philosophy 
or  reason.? 

And  why  are  they  the  happiest  ? 

Because  it  is  probable  that  they  return  info  a  mild  and 
social  nature  like  their  own,  such  as  that  of  bees,  or  wasps, 
or  ants,  or,  it  may  be,  into  the  bodies  of  men,  and  that  from 
them  are  made  worthy  citizens. 

Very  likely. 

But  none  but  the  philosopher  or  the  lover  of  knowledge, 
who  is  wholly  pure  when  he „gq.e§„.. hence,  is  permitted^  go 
to  the  race  of  the  gods ;  and  therefore,  npy,  friends  Bimmias 
and  Cebes,  the  true  philosopher  is  temperate,  and  refrains 
from  all  the  pleasures  of  the  body,  and  does  not  give 
himself  tip  to  them—  It  is  not  squandering  his  substance 
and  poverty  that  he  fears,  as  the' multitude  and  thertovers 
of  wealth  do;  nor  again 'does  he  dread  the  dishonor  and 
disgrace  of  wickedness,  like  the  lovers  of  power  and  honor. 
It  Ts"h6t  Tor  these  reasons,  that  Tie  is  temperate. 

No,'  'if  would  be  unseemly  in  him  if  he  were,  Socrates, 
said  Cebes. 

Indeed  it  would,  he  replied :  and  therefore  all  those  who 
have  any  care  for  their  souls,  and  who  do  not  spendTheir 
lives  in  forming  and  moulding .  tlifiir  bodies,  bicl  farewell 
to  such  persons,  and  do  not  walk  in  their  ways,  thinking 
that  they  know  not  whither  they  are  going.  They  them¬ 
selves  turn  and  follow  whithersoever  philosophy  leads 
them,  for  they  believe  that  they  ought  not  to  resist  phil¬ 
osophy,  or  its  deliverance  and  purification. 

How,  Socrates? 

I  will  tell  you,  he  replied.  The  lovers  of  knowledge 
know  that  when  philosophy  receives  the  soul,  she  is  fast 
bound  in  the  body,  and  fastened  to  it:  she  is  unable  to 


166 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


contemplate  what  is,  by  herself,  or  except  through  the  bars 
of  her  prison-house,  the  body;  and  she  is  wallowing  in  utter 
ignorance.  And  philosophy  sees  that  the  dreadful  thing 
about  the  imprisonment  is  that  it  is  caused  by  lust,  and  that 
the  captive  herself  is  an  accomplice  in  her  own  captivity. 
The  lovers  of  knowledge,  I  repeat,  know  that  philosophy 
takes  the  soul  when  she  is  in  this  condition,  and  gently  en¬ 
courages  her,  and  strives  to  release  her  from  her  captivity, 
showing  her  that  the  pen  epi  ions  of  the  eye,  and  the  ear, 
and  the  other" senses,  are  full. of  deceit,  and  persuading 
her  to  stand  aloof  from  the  senses,  and  to  use  them  only 
when  she  must,  and  exhorting  her  to  rally  and  gather 
herself  together,  and  to  trust  only  to  herself,  and  to  the 
real  existence  which  she  of  her  own  self  apprehends:  and  to 
believe  that  nothing,  which  is  subject  to  change,  and  which 
fihe  perceives  by  other  faculties.  has~ahy*Truth77or*' such 
things  are  visible  and  sensible,  while  what  she  herself  .gees 
is  apprehended  by  reason  and  invisible.  The  soul  of  the 
true  philosopher  thinks  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  resist 
this  deliverance  from  captivity,  and  therefore  she  holds 
aloof,  so  far  as  she  can,  from  pleasure,  and  desire,  and  pain, 
and  fear;  for  she  reckons  that  when  a  man  has  vehement 
pleasure,  or  fear,  or  pain,  or  desire,  he  suffers  from  them, 
not  merely  the  evils  which  might  be  expected,  such  as  sick¬ 
ness,  or  some  loss  arising  from  the  indulgence  of  his  de¬ 
sires  ;  he  suffers  what  is  the  greatest  and  last  of  evils,  and 
does  not  take  it  into  account. 

What  do  you  mean,  Socrates?  asked  Cebes. 

I  mean  that  when  the  soul  of  any  man  feels  vehement 
pleasure  or  pain,  she  is  forced  at  the  same  time  to  think 
that  the  object,  whatever  it  be,  of  those  sensations'  is  the 
most  distinct  and  truest,  when  it  is  not.  Such  objects  are 
chiefly  visible  ones,  are  they  not? 

They  are. 

And  is  it  not  in.  this  state  that  the  soul  is  most  com¬ 
pletely  in  bondage  to  the  body  ? 

How  so? 

Because  every  pleasure  and  pain  has  a  kind  of  nail, 
and  nails  and  pins  her  to  the  body,  and  gives  her  a  bodily 


PHJEDO. 


16? 


nature,  making  her  think  that  whatever  the  body  says  is 
true.  And  so,  from  having  the  same  fancies  and  the 
same  pleasures  as  tire  body,  she  is  obliged,  I  suppose,  to 
come  to  have  the  same  ways,  and  way  of  life':'  she  must 
always  be  defiled  with  the  body  when  she  leaves  it,  and 
cannot  be  pure  when  she  reaches  the  other  world;  and 
so  she  soon  falls  back  into  another  body,  and  takes  root 
in  it,  like  seed  that  is  sown.  Therefore  she  loses  all 
part  in  intercourse  with  the  divine,  and  pure,  and  uni¬ 
form. 

That  is  very  true,  Socrates,  said  Cebes. 

It  is  for  these  reasons  then,  Cebes,  that  the  real  lowers 
of  knowledge  are  temperate  and  brave ;  and  not  for  the 
world’s  reasons.  Or  do  you  think  so? 

No,  certainly  I  do  not. 

Assuredly  not.  The  soul  of  a  philosopher  will  consider 
that  it  is  the  office  oF  philosophy  to  get  lifil*  fre^r~  She 
will  know  that  she  must  not  give  herself  up  once  more 
to  the  bondage  of  pleasure  and  pain,  from  which  philosophy 
is  releasing  her,  and,  like  Penelope,  do  a  work,  only  to  undo 
it  continually,  weaving  instead  of  unweaving  her  web.  She 
gains  for  herself  peace  from  these  things,  and  follows 
reason  and  ever  abides  in  it,  contemplating  wliat  is  true 
and  divine  and  real,  and  fostered  up  by  them.  So  she 
thinks  that  she  should  live  in  this  life,  and  when  she  dies 
she  believes  that  she  will  go  to  what  is  akin  to  and  like 
herself,  and  be  released  from  human  ills.  A  soul,  Sim- 
mias  and  Cebes,  that  has  been  so  nurtured,  and  so  trained, 
will  never  fear  lest  she  should  be  tom  in  pieces  at  her 
departure  from  the  body,  and  blown  away  by  the  winds, 
and  vanish,  and  utterly  cease  to  exist.  • 

At  these  words  there  was  a  long  silence.  Socrates  him¬ 
self  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  his  argument,  and  so  were 
most  of  us.  Cebes  and  Simmias  conversed  for  a  little  by 
themselves.  When  Socrates  observed  them,  he  said :  What  ? 
Do  you  think  that  our  reasoning  is  incomplete?  It  still 
offers  many  points  of  doubt  and  attack,  if  it  is  to  be 
examined  thoroughly.  If  you  are  discussing  another  ques¬ 
tion,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  But  if  you  have  any  difficulty 


168 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


about  this  one,  do  not  hesitate  to  tell  me  what  it  is,  and, 
if  vou  are  of  opinion  that  the  argument  should  be  stated 
in  a  better  way,  explain  your  views  yourselves:  and  take 
me  along  with  you,  if  you  think  that  you  will  be  more 
successful  in  my  company. 

Simmias  replied:  Well,  Socrates,  I  will  tell  you  the 
truth.  Each  of  us  has  a  difficulty,  and  each  has  been  push¬ 
ing  on  the  other,  and  urging  him  to  ask  you  about  it.  We 
were  anxious  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say;  but  we  were 
reluctant  to  trouble  you,  for  we  were  afraid  that  it  might 
be  unpleasant  to  you  to  be  asked  questions  now. 

Socrates  smiled  at  this  answer,  and  said.  Dear  me !  Sim¬ 
mias;  1  shall  find  it  hard  to  convince  other  people  that  I  do 
not  consider  mjr  fate  a  misfortune,  when  I  cannot  convince 
even  you  of  it,  and  you  are  afraid  that  I  am  more  peevish 
now  than  I  used  to  be.  You  seem  to  think  me  inferior 
in  prophetic  power  to  the  swans,  which,  when  they  find 
that  they  have  to  die,  sing  more  loudly  than  they  ever  sang 
before,  for  joy  that  they  are  about  to  depart  into  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  God,  whose  servants  they  are.  The  fear  which  men 
have  of  death  themselves  makes  them  speak  falsely  of  the 
swans,  and  they  say  that  the  swan  is  wailing  at  its  death, 
and  that  it  sings  loud  for  grief.  They  forget  that  no 
bird  sings  when  it  is  hungry,  or  cold,  or  in  any  pain;  not 
even  the  nightingale,  nor  the  swallow,  nor  the  hoopoe, 
which,  they  assert,  wail  and  sing  for  grief.  But  I  think 
that  neither  these  birds  nor  the  swan  sing  for  grief.  I 
believe  that  they  have  a  prophetic  power  and  foreknowledge 
of  the  good  things  in  the  next  world,  for  they  are  Apollo’s 
birds:  and  so  they  sing  and  rejoice  on  the  day  of  their 
death,  more  than  in  all  their  life.  And  I  believe  that  I 
myself  am  a  fellow  slave  with  the  swans,  and  consecrated 
to  the  service  of  the  same  God,  and  that  I  have  prophetic 
power  from  my  master  no  less  than  they;  and  that  I  am 
not  more  despondent  than  they  are  at  leaving  this  life. 
So,  as  far  as  vexing  me  goes,  you  may  talk  to  me  and  ask 
questions  as  you  please,  as  long  as  the  Eleven  of  the 
Athenians  will  let  you. 

Good,  said  Simmias;  I  will  tell  you  my  difficulty,  and 


BHiEDO. 


169 


Cebes  will  tell  you  why  he  is  dissatisfied  with  your  state¬ 
ment.  I  think,  Socrates,  and  I  dare  say  you  think  so  too, 
that  it  is  very  difficult,  and  perhaps  impossible,  to  obtain 
clear  knowledge  about  these  matters  in  this  life.  Yet  I 
should  hold  him  to  be  a  very  poor  creature  who  did  not  test 
what  is  said  about  them  in  every  way,  and  persevere  until 
he  had  examined  the  question  from  every  side,  and  could 
do  no  more.  It  is  our  duty  to  do  one  of  two  things. 
We  must  learn,  or  we  must  discover  for  ourselves,  the  truth 
of  these , matters ;  or,  if  that  be  impossible,  we  must  take 
the  best  and  most  irrefragable  of  human  doctrines,  and 
embarking  on  that,  as  on  a  raft,  risk  the  voyage  of  life, 
unless  a  stronger  vessel,  some  divine  word,  could  be  found, 
on  which  we  might  take  our  journey  more  safely  and  more 
securely.  And  now,  after  what  you  have  said,  I  shall 
not  be  ashamed  to  put  a  question  to  you:  and  then  I 
shall  not  have  to  blame  myself  hereafter  for  not  having 
said  now  what  I  think.  Cebes  and  I  have  been  considering 
your  argument;  and  we  think  that  it  is  hardly  sufficient. 

I  dare  say  you  are  right,  my  friend,  said  Socrates.  But 
tell  me,  where  is  it  insufficient? 

To  me  it  is  insufficient,  he  replied,  because  the  very 
same  argument  might  be  used  of  a  harmony,  and  a  lyre, 
and  its  strings.  It  might  be  said  that  the  harmony  in  a 
tuned  lyre  is  something  unseen,  and  incorporeal,  and  per¬ 
fectly  beautiful,  and  divine,  while  the  lyre  and  its  strings 
are  corporeal,  and  with  the  nature  of  bodies,  and  com¬ 
pounded,  and  earthly,  and  akin  to  the  mortal.  How 
suppose  that,  when  the  lyre  is  broken  and  the  strings  are 
cut  or  snapped,  a  man  were  to  press  the  same  argument 
that  you  have  used,  and  were  to  say  that  the  harmony 
cannot  have  perished,  and  that  it  must  still  exist:  for  it 
cannot  possibly  be  that  the  lyre  and  the  strings,  with  their 
mortal  nature,  continue  to  exist,  though  those  strings  have 
been  broken,  while  the  harmony,  which  is  of  the  same  na¬ 
ture  as  the  divine  and  the  immortal,  and  akin  to  them, 
has  perished,  and  perished  before  the  mortal  lyre.  He 
would  say  that  the  harmony  itself  must  still  exist  some¬ 
where,  and  that  the  wood  and  the  strings  will  rot  away 


170 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


before  anything  happens  to  it.  And  I  think,  Socrates, 
that  you  too  must  be  aware  that  many  of  us  believe  the 
soul  to  be  most  probably  a  mixture  and  harmony  of  the 
elements  by  which  our  body  is,  as  it  were,  strung  and  held 
together,  such  as  heat  and  cold,  and  dry  and  wet,  and  the 
like,  when  they  are  mixed  together  well  and  in  due  pro¬ 
portion.  Now  if  the  soul  is  a  harmony,  it  is  clear  that, 
when  the  body  is  relaxed  out  of  proportion,  or  over-strung 
bv  disease  or  other  evils,  the  soul,  though  most  divine, 
must  perish  at  once,  like  other  harmonies  of  sound  and 
of  all  works  of  art,  while  what  remains  of  each  body  must 
remain  for  a  long  time,  until  it  be  burnt  or  rotted  away. 
What  then  shall  we  say  to  a  man  who  asserts  that  the 
soul,  being  a  mixture  of  the  elements  of  the  body,  perishes 
first,  at  what  is  called  death  ? 

Socrates  looked  keenly  at  us,  as  he  often  used  to  do, 
and  smiled.  Simmias’  objection  is  a  fair  one,  he  said.  If 
any  of  you  is  readier  than  I  am,  why  does  he  not  answer? 
For  Simmias  looks  like  a  formidable  assailant.  But  be¬ 
fore  we  answer  him,  I  think  that  we  had  better  hear  what 
fault  Cebes  has  to  find  with  my  reasoning,  and  so  gain 
time  to  consider  our  reply.  And  then,  when  we  have 
heard  them  both ;  we  must  either  give  in  to  them,  if  they 
seem  to  harmonize,  or,  if  they  do  not,  we  must  proceed  to 
argue  in  defense  of  our  reasoning.  Come,  Cebes,  what 
is  it  that  troubles  you,  and  makes  you  doubt? 

I  will  tell  you,  replied  Cebes.  I  think  that  the  argu¬ 
ment  is  just  where  it  was,  and  still  open  to  our  former 
objection.  You  have  shown  very  cleverly,  and,  if  it  is 
not  arrogant  to  say  so,  quite  conclusively,  that  our  souls 
existed  before  they  entered  the  human  form.  I  don’t 
retract  my  admission  on  that  point.  But  I  am  not  con¬ 
vinced  that  they  will  continue  to  exist  after  we  are  dead. 
I  do  not  agree  with  Simmias’  objection,  that  the  soul  is 
not  stronger  and  more  lasting  than  the  body:  I  think  that 
it  is  very  much  superior  in  those  respects.  “Well,  then, 
the  argument  might  reply,  “  do  you  still  doubt,  when  you' 
see  that  the  weaker  part  of  a  man  continues  to  exist  after 
his  death?  Do  you  not  think  that  the  more  lasting  part 


PHiEDO. 


171 


'of  him  must  necessarily  be  preserved  for  as  long?”  See, 
therefore,  if  there  is  anything  in  what  I  say ;  for  I  think 
that  1,  like  Simmias,  shall  best  express  my  meaning  in  a 
figure.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  man  might  use  an  argu¬ 
ment  similar  to  yours,  to  prove  that  a  weaver,  who  had 
died  in  old  age,  had  not  in  fact,  perished,  but  was  still 
alive  somewhere;  on  the  ground  that  the  garment,  which 
the  weaver  had  woven  for  himself  and  used  to  wear,  had 
not  perished  or  been  destroyed.  And  if  any  one  were 
incredulous,  he  might  ask  whether  a  human  being,  or  a 
garment  constantly  in  use  and  wear,  lasts  the  longer ;  and 
on  being  told  that  a  human  being  lasts  much  the  longer,  he 
might  think  that  he  had  shown  beyond  all  doubt  that  the 
man  was  safe,  because  what  lasts  a  shorter  time  than  the 
man  had  not  perished.  But  that,  I  suppose,  is  not  so, 
Simmias;  for  you  too  must  examine  what  I  say.  Every 
one  would  understand  that  such  an  argument  was  simple 
nonsense.  This  weaver  wove  himself  many  such  garments 
and  wore  them  out ;  he  outlived  them  all  but  the  last,  but 
he  perished  before  that  one.  Yet  a  man  is  in  no  wise  in¬ 
ferior  to  his  cloak,  or  weaker  than  it,  on  that  account. 
And  I  think  that  the  soul’s  relation  to  the  body  may  be 
expressed  in  a  similar  figure.  Why  should  not  a  man  very 
reasonably  say  in  just  the  same  way  that  the  soul  lasts  a 
long  time,  while  the  body  is  weaker  and  lasts  a  shorter 
time?  But,  he  might  go  on,  each  soul  wears  out  many 
bodies,  especially  if  she  lives  for  many  years.  For  if  the 
body  is  in  a‘  state  of  flux  and  decay  in  the  man’s  lifetime, 
and  the  soul  is  ever  repairing  the  worn  out  part,  it  will 
surely  follow  that  the  soul,  on  perishing,  will  be  clothed  in 
her  last  robe,  and  perish  before  that  alone.  But  when  the 
soul  has  perished,  then  the  body  will  show  its  weakness  and 
quickly  rot  away.  So  as  yet  we  have  no  right  to  be  con¬ 
fident,  on  the  strength  of  this  argument,  that  our  souls  con¬ 
tinue  to  exist  after  we  are  dead.  And  a  man  might  concede 
even  more  than  this  to  an  opponent  who  used  your  argu¬ 
ment;  he  might  admit  not  only  that  our  souls  existed  in 
the  period  before  we  were  born,  but  also  that  there  is  no 


172 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


reason  why  some  of  them  should  not  continue  to  exist  in 
the  future,  and  often  come  into  being,  and  die  again,  after 
we  are  dead ;  for  the  soul  is  strong  enough  by  nature  to  en¬ 
dure  coming  into  being  many  times.  He  might  grant 
that,  without  conceding  that  she  suffers  no  harm  in  all 
these  births,  or  that  she  is  not  at  last  wholly  destroyed  at 
one  of  the  deaths;  and  he  might  say  that  no  man  knows 
when  this  death  and  dissolution  of  the  body,  which  brings 
destruction  to  the  soul,  will  be,  for  it  is  impossible  for 
any  man  to  find  out  that.  But  if  this  is  true,  a  man  s  con¬ 
fidence  about  death  must  be  an  irrational  confidence,  unless 
he  can  prove  that  the  soul  is  wholly  indestructible  and  im¬ 
mortal.  Otherwise  every  one  Mho  is  dying  must  fear  that 
his  soul  will  perish  utterly  this  time  in  her  separation 
from  the  body. 

It  made  us  all  very  uncomfortable  to  listen  to  them,  as 
we  afterwards  said  to  each  other.  We  had  been  fully  con¬ 
vinced  by  the  previous  argument;  and  now  they  seemed 
to  overturn  our  conviction,  and  to  make  us  distrust  all  the 
arguments  that  were  to  come,  as  well  as  the  preceding  ones, 
and  to  doubt  if  our  judgment  was  worth  anything,  or 
even  if  certainty  could  be  attained  at  all. 

Ech.  By  the  gods,  Phsedo,  I  can  understand  your  feelings 
very  well  I  myself  felt  inclined  while  you  were  speaking 
to  ask  myself,  “  Then  vdiat  reasoning  are  M'e  to  believe 
in  future?  That  of  Socrates  was  quite  convincing^  and 
now  it  has  fallen  into  discredit.”  For  the  doctrine  that 
our  soul  is  a  harmony  has  always  taken  a  wonderful  hold 
of  me,  and  your  mentioning  it  reminded  me  that  I  myself 
had  held  it.  And  now  I  must  begin  again  and  find  some 
other  reasoning  which  shall  convince  me  that  a  man’s  soul 
does  not  die  with  him  at  his  death.  So  tell  me,  I  pray  you, 
how  did  Socrates  pursue  the  argument  ?  Did  he  show  any 
.  signs  of  uneasiness,  as  you  say  that  you  did,  or  did  he 
come  to  the  defense  of  his  argument  calmly  ?  And  did  he 
defend  it  satisfactorily  or  no?  Tell  me  the  whole  story 
as  exactly  as  you  can. 

Phcedo.  I  have  often,  Echecrates,  wondered  at  Socrates ; 
]but  I  never  admired  him  more  than  I  admired  him  then. 


PHiEDO. 


173 


There  was  nothing  very  strange  in  his  having  an  answer: 
what  I  chiefly  wondered  at  was,  first,  the  kindness  and 
good-nature  and  respect  with  which  he  listened  to  the  young 
men’s  objections;  and,  secondly,  the  quickness  with  which, 
he  perceived  their  effect  upon  us;  and,  lastly,  how  well  he 
healed  our  wounds,  and  rallied  us  as  if  we  were  beaten 
and  flying  troops,  and  encouraged  us  to  follow  him,  and 
to  examine  the  reasoning  with  him. 

Ech.  How? 

Phcedo.  I  will  tell  you.  I  was  sitting  by  the  bed  on  a 
stool  at  his  right  hand,  and  his  seat  was  a  good  deal 
higher  than  mine.  He  stroked  my  head  and  gathered  up 
the  hair  on  my  neck  in  his  hand — you  know  he  used  often 
to  play  with  my  hair— -and  said,  To-morrow,  Phsedo,  I 
dare  say  will  cut  off  these  beautiful  locks. 

I  suppose  so,  Socrates,  I  replied. 

You  will  not,  if  you  take  my  advice. 

Why  not  ?  I  asked. 

You  and  I  will  cut  off  our  hair  to-day,  he  said,  if  our 
argument  be  dead  indeed,  and  we  cannot  bring  it  to  life 
again.  And  I,  if  I  were  you,  and  the  argument  were  to 
escape  me,  would  swear  an  oath,  as  the  Argives  did,  not 
to  wear  my  hair  long  again,  until  I  had  renewed  the  fight 
and  conquered  the  argument  of  Simmias  and  Cebes. 

But  Heracles  himself,  they  say,  is  not  a  match  for  two, 
I  replied. 

Then  summon  me  to  aid  you,  as  your  Iolaus,  while  there 
is  still  light. 

Then  I  summon  you,  not  as  Heracles  summoned  Iolaus, 
but  as  Iolaus  might  summon  Heracles. 

It  will  be  the  same,  he  replied.  But  first  let  us  take 
care  not  to  make  a  mistake. 

What  mistake?  I  asked. 

The  mistake  of  becoming  misologists,  or  haters  of  reason¬ 
ing,  as  men  become  misanthropists,  he  replied:  for  to  hate 
reasoning  is  the  greatest  evil  that  can  happen  to  us.  Miso- 
iogy  and  misanthrdpy"h6fK'™5dmF^froSY'iimilar  causes. 
The  latter  arises  out  of  the  implicit  and  irrational  confi¬ 
dence  which  is  placed  in  a  man,  who  is  believed  by  his 


174 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


friend  to  be  thoroughly  true  and  sincere  and  trustworthy, 
and  who  is  soon  afterwards  discovered  to  be  a  bad  man  and 
untrustworthy.  This  happens  again  and  again ;  and  when 
a  man  has  had  this  experience  many  times,  particularly  at 
the  hands  of  those  whom  he  has  believed  to  be  his  nearest 
and  dearest  friends,  and  he  has  quarreled  with  many  of 
of  them,  he  ends  by  hating  all  men,  and  thinking  that  there 
is  no  good  at  all  in  any  one.  Have  you  not  seen  this  hap¬ 
pen? 

Yes,  certainly,  said  T. 

Is  it  not  discreditable?  he  said.  Is  it  not  clear  that  such 
a  man  tries  to  deal  with  men  without  understanding  human 
nature?  Had  he  understood  it  he  would  have  known  that, 
in  fact,  good  men  and  bad  men  are  very  few  indeed,  and 
that  the  majority  of  men  are  neither  one  nor  the  other. 

What  do  you  mean  ?  I  asked. 

Just  what  is  true  of  extremely  large  and  extremely 
small  things,  he  replied.  What  is  rarer  than  to  find  a  man, 
or  a  dog,  or  anything  else  which  is  either  extremely  large 
or  extremely  small?  Or  again,  what  is  rarer  than  to  find 
a  man  who  is  extremely  swift  or  slow,  or  extremely  base  or 
honorable,  or  extremely  black  or  white?  Have  you  not 
noticed  that  in  all  these  cases  the  extremes  are  rare  and 
few,  and  that  the  average  specimens  are  abundant  and 
many  ? 

Yes,  certainly,  I  replied. 

And  in  the  same  way,  if  there  were  a  competition  in 
wickedness,  he  said,  don't  you  think  that  the  leading  sin¬ 
ners  would  be  found  to  be  very  few? 

That  is  likely  enough,  said  I. 

Yes,  it  is,  he  replied.  But  this  is  not  the  point  in  which 
arguments  are  like  men :  it  was  you  who  led  me  on  to  dis¬ 
cuss  this  point.  The  analogy  is  this.  When  a  man  believes 
some  reasoning  to  be  true,  though  he  does  not  understand 
the  art.  of  reasoning,  and  then  soon  afterwards,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  comes  to  think  that  it  is  false,  and  this  happens 
to  him  time  after  time,  he  ends  by  disbelieving  in  reason¬ 
ing  altogether.  You  know  that  persons  who  spend  their 
time  in  disputation,  come  at  last  to  th’nk  themselves  the 


PH^EDO. 


175 


■wisest  of  men,  and  to  imagine  that  they  alone  have  dis¬ 
covered  that  there  is  no  soundness  or  certainty  anywhere, 
either  in  reasoning  or  in  things ;  and  that  all  existence  is 
in  a  state  of  perpetual  flux,  like  the  currents  of  the  Euri- 
pus,  and  never  remains  still  for  a  moment. 

Yes,  I  replied,  that  is  certainly  true. 

And,  Phaedo,  he  said,  if  there  be  a  system  of  reasoning 
which  is  true,  and  certain,  and  which  our  minds  can  grasp, 
it  would  be  very  lamentable  that  a  man,  who  has  met  with 
some  of  these  arguments  which  at  one  time  seem  true  and 
at  another  false,  should  at  last,  in  the  bitterness  of  his 
heart  gladly  put  all  the  blame  on  the  reasoning,  instead  of 
on  himself  and  his  own  unskilfulness,  and  spend  the  rest 
of  his  life  in  hating  and  reviling  reasoning,  and  lose  the 
truth  and  knowledge  of  reality. 

Indeed,  I  replied,  that  would  be  very  lamentable. 

First  then,  he  said,  let  us  be  carefuLnot  to  admit  into 
our  souls  the  notion  that  all  reasoning  is  very  likely  un- 
let  us  arher  think  WatT  we  ourselves '  are  not  yec 
And  wo  must  strive  earnestly  like  men  to  become 
sound,  you,  my  friends,  for  the  sake  of  all  your  future  life ; 
and  I,  because  of  my  death.  For  I  am  afraid  that  at 
present  I  can  hardly  look  at  death  like  a  philosopher;  I  am 
in  a  contentious  mood,  like,  the  uneducated  persons  who 
never  give  a  thought  to  the  truth  of  the  question  about 
which  they  are  disputing,  but  are  only  anxious  to  persuade 
their  audience  that  they  themselves  are  right.  And. I  think 
that'to-day T'shal!  differ  from  them  only  in  one  thing. 
I  shall,  not.. he„  anxious  to  persuade  my  audience  that  I  am 
right,  except  by  the.  way;  but  I  shall  he  very  anxious  in¬ 
deed  to  persuade  myself.  For  see,  my  dear  friend,  how 
selfish  my  reasoning  is.  If  what  I  say  is  true,  it  is  well  to 
believe  it.  .  3ut.  if  there  is  nothing  after  "death,  Tit'TmT“fate 
X  shall- pain  my  friends. less  by  my  lamentations  in  the  in¬ 
terval  before  I  die.  And  this  ignorance  will  not  last  for¬ 
ever — that  would  have  been  an  evil — it  will  soon  come  to 
amend.  So  prepared,  Simmias  and  Cebes,  he  said,  I  come 
to  the  argument.  And  you,  if_jou  take  my  advice,  will 
think  not  of  Socrates,  but  of  -the  trutB  -and  you  will  agree 


176 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


me,  if  you  think  that  what  I  say  is  true:  otherwise 
you  will  oppose  me  with  ‘every argument  that  jyou  have: 
and  be  careful  that,  in  my  anxiety  to  com  i  you,  I  do 
not  deceive  both  you  and  myself,  and  go  ^i  wayy  kavrng  my 
sting  behind  me,  like  a.  bee.. 

Now  let  ns  proceed,  he  said.  And  first,  if  jmu  find  I 
have  forgotten  your  arguments,  repeat  them.  Simmias,  I 
think,  has  fears  and  misgivings  that  the  soul,  being  of  the 
nature  of  a  harmony,  may  perish  before  the  body,  though 
she  is  more  divine  and  nobler  than  the  body.  Cebes,  if  I  am 
not  mistaken,  conceded  that  the  soul  is  more  enduring  than 
the  body;  but  he  said  that  no  one  could  tell  whether  the 
soul,  after  wearing  out  many  bodies  many  times,  did  not 
herself  perish  on  leaving  her  last  body,  and  whether  death 
be  not  precisely  this,  the  destruction  of  the  soul ;  for  the  de¬ 
struction  of  the  body  is  unceasing.  Is  there  anything 
else.  Simmias  and  Cubes,  which  we  have  to  examine? 

They  both  agreed  that  these  were  the  questions. 

Do  you  reject  all  our  previous  conclusions,  he  asked,  or 
only  some  of  them  ? 

Only  some  of  them,  they  replied. 

Well,  said  he,  what  do  you  say  of  our  doctrine  that 
knowledge  is  recollection,  and  that  therefore  our  souls 
must  necessarily  have  existed  somewhere  else,  before  they 
were  imprisoned  in  our  bodies? 

I,  replied  Cebes,  was  convinced  by  it  at  the  time  in  a 
wonderful  way:  and  now  there  is  no  doctrine  to  which  I 
adhere  more  firmly. 

And  I  am  of  that  mind  too,  said  Simmias;  and  I  shall 
be  very  much  surprised  if  I  ever  change  it. 

But,  my  Theban  friend,  you  will  have  to  change '  it, 
said  Socrates,  if  this  opinion  of  yours,  that  a  harmony  is  a 
composite  thing,  and  that  the  soul  is  a  harmony  composed 
of  the  elements  of  the  body  at  the  right  tension,  is  to  stand. 
You  will  hardly  allow  yourself  to  assert  that  the  harmony 
was  in  existence  before  the  things  from  which  it  was  to  be 
composed?  Will  you  do  that? 

Certainly  not,  Socrates. 

But  you  see  that  that  is  what  your  assertion  comes  to 


PHiEDO. 


177 


when  you  say  that  the  soul  existed  before  she  came  into 
the  form  and  body  of  man,  and  yet  that  she  is  composed  of 
elements  which  did  not  yet  exist?  Your  harmony  is  not 
like  what  you  compare  it  to :  the  lyre  and  the  strings  and 
the  sounds,  as  yet  untuned,  come  into  existence  first :  and 
the  harmony  is  composed  last  of  all,  and  perishes  first. 
How  will  this  belief  of  yours  accord  with  the  other  ? 

It  will  not,  replied  Simmias. 

And  yet,  said  he,  an  argument  about  harmony  is  hardly 
the  place  for  a  discord. 

No,  indeed,  said  Simmias. 

Well,  there  is  a  discord  in  your  argument,  he  said.  You 
must  choose  which  doctrine  you  will  retain,  that  knowl¬ 
edge  is  recollection,  or  that  the  soul  is  a  harmony. 

The  former,  Socrates,  certainly,  he  replied.  The  latter 
has  never  been  demonstrated  to  me ;  it  rests  only  on  prob¬ 
able  and  plausible  grounds,  which  make  it  a  popular  opin¬ 
ion.  I  know  that  doctrines  which  ground  their  proofs  on 
probabilities  are  impostors,  and  that  they  are  very  apt  to 
mislead,  both  in  geometry  and  everything  else,  if  one  is 
not  on  one’s  guard  against  them.  But  the  doctrine  about 
recollection  and  knowledge  rests  upon  a  foundation  which 
claims  belief.  We  agreed  that  the  soul  exists  before  she 
ever  enters  the  body,  as  surely  as  the  essence  itself  which 
has  the  name  of  real  being,  exists.  And  I  am  persuaded 
that  I  believe  in  this  essence  rightly  and  on  sufficient  evi¬ 
dence.  It  follows  therefore,  I  suppose,  that  I  cannot  allow 
myself  or  any  one  else  to  say  that  the  soul  is  a  harmony. 

And,  consider  the  question  in  another  way,  Simmias,  said 
Socrates.  Do  you  think  that  a  harmony  or  any  other  com¬ 
position  can  exist  in  a  state  other  than  the  state  of  the  ele¬ 
ments  of  which  it  is  composed  ? 

Certainly  not. 

Nor,  I  suppose,  can  it  do  or  suffer  anything  beyond  what 
they  do  and  suffer? 

He  assented. 

A  harmony  therefore  cannot  lead  the  elements  of  which, 
it  is  composed ;  it  must  follow  them  ? 

He  agreed. 


178 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


And  much  less  can  it  be  moved,  or  make  a  sound,  or  do 
anything  else,  in  opposition  to  its  parts. 

Much  less,  indeed,  he  replied. 

Well;  is  not  every  harmony  by  nature  a  harmony  ac¬ 
cording  as  it  is  adjusted  ? 

I  don’t  understand  you,  he  replied. 

If  it  is  tuned  more,  and  to  a  greater  extent,  he  said,  sup¬ 
posing  that  to  be  possible,  will  it  not  be  more  a  harmony, 
and  to  a  greater  extent,  while  if  it  is  tuned  less,  and  to  a 
smaller  extent,  will  it  not  be  less  a  harmony,  and  to  a 
smaller  extent? 

Certainly. 

Well,  is  this  true  of  the  soul?  Can  one  soul  be  more  a 
soul,  and  to  a  greater  extent,  or  less  a  soul,  and  to  a  smaller 
extent,  than  another,  even  in  the  smallest  degree? 

Certainly  not,  he  replied. 

Well  then,  he  replied,  please  tell  me  this ;  is  not  one  soul 
said  to  have  intelligence  and  virtue  anu  to  be  good,  while 
another  is  said  to  have  folly  and  vice  and  to  be  bad  ?  And 
is  it  not  true? 

Yes,  certainly. 

What  then  will  those,  who  assert  that  the  soul  is  a  har¬ 
mony,  say  that  the  virtue  and  the  vice  which  are  in  our 
souls  are?  Another  harmony  and  another  discord?  Will 
they  say  that  the  good  soul  is  in  tune,  and  that,  herself  a 
harmony,  she  has  within  herself  another  harmony,  and  that 
the  bad  soul  is  out  of  tune  herself,  and  has  no  other  har¬ 
mony  within  her. 

I,  said  Simmias,  cannot  tell.  But  it  is  clear  that  they 
would  have  to  say  something  of  the  kind. 

But  it  has  been  conceded,  he  said,  that  one  soul  is  never 
more  or  less  a  soul  than  another.  In  other  words,  we  have 
agreed  that  one  harmony  is  never  more,  or  to  a  greater  ex¬ 
tent,  or  less,  or  to  a  smaller  extent  a  harmony  than  another. 
Is  it  not  so  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

And  the  harmony  which  is  neither  more  nor  less  a  har¬ 
mony,  is  not  more  or  less  tuned.  Is  that  so? 

Yes. 


PH^EDO.  179 

And  has  that  which  is  neither  more  nor  less  tuned,  a. 
greater,  or  a  less,  or  an  equal  share  of  harmony  ? 

An  equal  share. 

Then,  since  one  soul  is  never  more  nor  less  a  soul  than 
another,  it  has  not  been  more  or  less  tuned  either? 

True. 

Therefore  it  can  have  no  greater  share  of  harmony  or  of 
discord  ? 

Certainly  not. 

And,  therefore,  can  one  soul  contain  more  vice  or  virtue 
than  another,  if  vice  be  discord,  and  virtue  harmony? 

By  no  means. 

Or  rather,  Simmias,  to  speak  quite  accurately,  I  suppose 
that  there  will  be  no  vice  in  any  soul,  if  the  soul  is  a  har¬ 
mony.  I  take  it,  there  can  never  be  any  discord  in  a 
harmony,  which  is  a  perfect  harmony. 

Certainly  not. 

Neither  can  a  soul,  if  it  be  a  perfect  soul,  have  any  vice 
in  it  ? 

No ;  that  follows  necessarily  from  what  has  been  said. 

Then  the  result  of  this  reasoning  is  that  all  the  souls  of 
all  living  creatures  will  be  equally  good,  if  the  nature  of 
all  souls  is  to  be  equally  souls. 

Yes,  I  think  so,  Socrates,  he  said. 

And  do  you  think  that  this  is  true,  he  asked,  and  that 
this  would  have  been  the  fate  of  our  argument,  if  the  hy¬ 
pothesis  that  the  soul  is  a  harmony  had  been  correct  ? 

No,  certainly  not,  he  replied. 

Well,  said  he,  of  all  the  parts  of  a  man,  should  you  not 
say  that  it  was  the  soul,  and  particularly  the  wise  soul, 
which  rules? 

I  should. 

Does  she  yield  to  the  passions  of  the  body,  or  does  she 
oppose  them?  I  mean  this.  When  the  body  is  hot:  and 
thirsty,  does  not  the  soul  drag  it  away  and  prevent  it 
from  drinking,  and  when  it  is  hungry  does  she  not  prevent 
it  from  eating?  And  do  we_not  see  .her  opposing  the  pas¬ 
sions  of  the  body  in.  a  tEH^anjclnther-^a-ys  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 


180 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


But  we  have  also  agreed  that,  if  she  is  a  harmony,  she  can 
never  give  a  sound  contrary  to  the  tensions,  and  relaxations, 
and  vibrations,  and  other  changes  of  the  elements  of  which 
she  is  composed ;  that  she  must  follow  them,  and  can  never 
lead  them  ? 

Yes,  he  replied,  we  certainly  have. 

Well,  now  do  we  not  find  the.-S.onl  acting  in  just  the 
opnosTuT wav,  and  leading  all  the  elements  of  which  she  is 
said  to  consist,  and  opposing. them  in  almost  everything 
all  through  life:  and  lording  it  over  them  in  excvj  way, 
and  chalwsinjf  them,  sometimes  severely,  and  with  a  pain¬ 
ful  discipline,  such  as  gymnastic  and  medicine,  and  some¬ 
times  lightiv;  sometimes  threatening  and  sometimes,  ad¬ 
monishing  the  desires  and  passions  and  fears,  as  though  she 
were  speaking  to  something  other  than  herself,  as  Homer 
makes  Odysseus  do  in  the  Odyssey,  where  he  says  that 

“  He  smote  upon  his  breast,  and  chid  his  heart  : 

«  Endure,  my  heart,  e’en  worse  hast  thou  endured.’  ” 

Do  you  think  that  when  Homer  wrote  that,  he  supposed  the 
soul  to  be  a  harmony,  and  capable  of  being  led  by  the  pas¬ 
sions  of  the  body,  and  not  of  a  nature  to  lead  them,  and  be 
their  lord,  being  herself  far  too  divine  a  thing  to  be  like  a 
harmony  ? 

Certainly,  Socrates,  I  think  not. 

Then,  my  excellent  friend,  it  is  quite  wrong  to  say  that 
the  soul  is  a  harmony.  For  then,  you  see,  we  should  not  be 
in  agreement  either  with  the  divine  poet  Homer,  or  vith 
ourselves. 

That  is  true,  he  replied. 

Very  good,  said  Socrates ;  I  think  that  we  have  contrived 
to  appease  our  Theban  Harmonia  with  tolerable  success. 
But  how  about  Cadmus,  Cebes?  he  said.  How  shall  we  ap¬ 
pease  him,  and  with  what  reasoning?  _  . 

I  dare  say  that  you  will  find  out  how  to  do  it,  said  Cebes. 
At  all  events  you' have  argued  that  the  soul  is  not  a  har¬ 
mony  in  a  way  which  surprised  me  very  much.  When 
Simmias  was  stating  bis  objection,  I  wondered  how  any  one 


PELEDO. 


181 


corild  possibly  dispose  of  his  argument :  and  so  I  was  very 
much  surprised  to  see  it  fall  before  the  very  first  onset  of 
yours.  I  should  not  wonder  if  the  same  fate  awaited  the 
argument  of  Cadmus. 

My  good  friend,  said  Socrates,  do  not  be  over  confident, 
or  some  evil  eye  will  overturn  the  argument  that  is  to 
come.  However,  that  we  will  leave  to  God;  let  us,  like 
Homer’s  heroes,  “advancing  boldly,”  see  if  there  is  any¬ 
thing  in  what  you  say.  The  sum  of  what  you  seek  is  this. 
You  require  me  to  prove  to  you  that  the  soul  is  indestructi¬ 
ble  and  immortal;  for  if  it  be  not  so,  you  think  that  the 
confidence  of  a  philosopher,  who  is  confident  in  death,  and 
who  believes  that  when  he  is  dead  he  will  fare  infinitely 
better  in  the  other  world  than  if  he  had  lived  a  different 
sort  of  life  in  this  world,  is  a  foolish  and  idle  confidence. 
You  say  that  to  show  that  the  soul  is  strong  and  godlike, 
and  that  she  existed  before  we  were  born  men,  is  not 
enough ;  for  that  does  not  necessarily  prove  her  immor- 
tality,  but  only  that  she  lasts  a  long  time,  and  has  existed 
an  enormous  while,  and  has  known  and  clone  many  things 
in  a  previous  state.  A  et  she  is  not  any  the  more  immortal 
for  that:  her  very  entrance  into  man’s  body  was,  like  a 
disease,  the  beginning  of  her  destruction.  And,  you  say, 
she  passes  this  life  in  misery,  and  at  last  perishes  in  what 
we  call  death.  You  think  that  it  makes  no  difference  at 
all  to  the  fears  of  each  one  of  us,  whether  she  enters  the 
body  once  or  many  times:  for  every  one  but  a  fool  must 
fear  death,  if  he  does  not  know  and  cannot  prove  that  she 
is  immortal.  That,  I  think,  Cebes,  is  the  substance  of  your 
objection.  I  state  it  again  and  again  on  purpose,  that 
nothing  may  escape  us,  and  that  you  may  add  to  it  or  take 
away  from  it  anything  that  you  wish. 

Cebes  replied :  Ho,  that  is  my  meaning.  I  don’t  want  to 
add  or  to  take  away  anything  at  present. 

Socrates  paused  for  some  time  and  thought.  Then  he 
said.  It  is  not  an  easy  question  that  you  are  raising,  Cebes. 
We  must  examine  fully  the  whole  subject  of  the  causes  of 
generation  and  decay.  If  jmu  like,  1  will  give  you  my  own 
experiences,  and  if  you  think  that  you  can  make  use  of 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


182 

anything  that  I  say,  you  may  employ  it  to  satisfy  your  mis¬ 
givings. 

Indeed,  said  Cebes,  I  should  like  to  hear  your  experi¬ 
ences. 

Listen,  then,  and  I  will  tell  you,  Cebes,  he  replied. 

""’When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  had  a  passionate  desire  for  the 
wisdom  which  is  called  Physical  Science.  1  thought  it  a 
splendid  thing  to  know  the  causes  of  everything;  why  a 
thing  comes  into  being,  and  why  it  perishes,  and  why  it 
exists.  I  was  always  worrying  myself  with  such  questions 
as,  Do  living  creatures  take  a  definite  form,  as  some  per¬ 
sons  say,  from  the  fermentation  of  heat  and  cold?  Is  it 
the  blood,  or  the  air,  or  fire  bv  which  we  think?  Or  is  it 
none  of  these,  but  the  brain  which  gives  the  senses  of  hear¬ 
ing  and  sight  and  smell,  and  do  memory  and  opinion  come 
from  these,  and  knowledge  from  memory  and  opinion  when 
in  a  state  of  quiescence?  Again,  I  used  to  examine  the 
destruction  of  these  things,  and  the  changes  of  the  heaven 
and  the  earth,  until  at  last  I  concluded  that  I  was  wholly 
and  absolutely  unfitted  for  these  studies.  I  will  prove  that 
to  you  conclusively.  I  was  so  completely  blinded  by  these 
studies,  that  I  forgot  what  I  had  formerly  seemed  to  my¬ 
self  and  to  others  to  know  quite  well:  I  unlearnt  all  that 
1  had  been  used  to  think  that  I  understood;  even  the  cause 
of  man’s  growth.  Formerly  I  had  thought  it  evident  on 
the  face  of  it  that  the  ca'use  of  growth  was  eating  and 
drinking;  and  that,  when  from  food  flesh  is  added  to  flesh, 
and  bone  to  bone,  and  in  the  same  way  to  the  other  parts  of 
the  body  their  proper  elements,  then  by  degrees  the  small 
bulk  grows  to  be  large,  and  so  the  boy  becomes  a  man. 
Don’t  you  think  that  my  belief  was  reasonable? 

I  do,  said  Cebes. 

Then  here  is  another  experience  for  you.  I  used  to  feel 
no  doubt,  when  I  saw  a  tall  man  standing  by  a  short  one, 
that  the  tall  man  was,  it  might  be,  a  head  the  taller,  or,  in 
the  same  way,  that  one  horse  was  bigger  than  another.  I 
was  even  clearer  that  ten  was  more  than  eight  by  the  addi¬ 
tion  of  two,  and  that  a  thing  two  cubits  long  was  longer 
by  half  its  length  than  a  thing  one  cubit  long. 


PH^EDO. 


183 


And  what  do  you  think  now  ?  asked  Cebes. 

I  think  that  I  am  very  far  from  believing  that  I  know 
the  cause  of  any  of  these  things.  Why,  when  you  add  one 
to  one,  I  am  not  sure  either  that  the  one  to  which  one  is 
added  has  become  two,  or  that  the  one  added  and  the  one  to 
which  it  is  added  become,  by  the  addition,  two.  I  cannot 
understand  how,  when  they  are  brought  together,  this 
union,  or  placing  of  one  by  the  other,  should  be  the  cause  of 
their  becoming  two,  whereas,  when  they  were  separated, 
each  of  them  was  one,  and  they  were  not  two.  Nor,  again, 
if  you  divide  one  into  two,  can  I  convince  myself  that  this 
division  is  the  cause  of  one  becoming  two :  for  then,  a  thing 
becomes  two  from  exactly  the  opposite  cause.  In  the  for¬ 
mer  case  it  was  because  two  units  were  brought  together, 
and  the  one  was  added  to  the  other ;  while  now  it  is  be¬ 
cause  they  are  separated,  and  the  one  divided  from  the 
other.  Nor,  again,  can  I  persuade  myself  that  I  know  how 
one  is  generated;  in  short,  this  method  does  not  show  me 
the  cause  of  the  generation  or  destruction  or  existence  of 
anything:  I  have  in  my  own  mind  a  confused  idea  of  an¬ 
other  method,  but  I  cannot  admit  this  one  for  a  moment. 

But  one  day  I  listened  to  a  man  who  said  that  he  was 
reading  from  a  book  of  Anaxagoras,  which  affirmed  that  it 
is  Mind  which  orders  and  is  the  cause  of  all  things.  I  was 
delighted  with  this  theory;  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  right,  that 
Mind  should  be  the  cause  of  all  things,  and  I  thought  to 
myself.  If  this  is  so,  then  Mind  will  order  and  arrange  each 
thing  in  the  best  possible  way.  So  if  we  wish  to  discover 
the  cause  of  the  generation  or  destruction  or  existence  of  a 
thing,  we  must  discover  how  it  is  best  for  that  thing  to  ex¬ 
ist,  or  to  act,  or  to  be  acted  on.  Man  therefore  has  only 
to  consider  what  is  best  and  littesN'far  'litrn'self ;"hr  Tor 
other  things,  and  then  it  follows  necessarily  that  he  will 
know  what  is  bad;  for  both  are  included  in  the  same 
science.  These  reflections  made  me  very  happy:  I  thought 
that  I  had  found  in  Anaxagoras  a  teacher  of  the  cause  of 
existence  after  my  own  heart,  and  I  expected  that  he 
would  tell  me  first  whether  the  earth  is  flat  or  round,  and 
•that  he  would  then  go  on  to  explain  to  me  the  cause  and 


184 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


the  necessity,  and  tell  me  what  is  best,  and  that  it  is  best 
for  the  earth  to  be  of  that  shape.  If  he  said  that  the  earth 
was  in  the  center  of  the  universe,  I  thought  that  he  would 
explain  that  it  was  best  for  it  to  be  there;  and  I  was  pre¬ 
pared  not  to  require  any  other  kind  of  cause,  if  he  made 
this  clear  to  me.  In  the  same  way  1  was  prepared  to  ask 
questions  about  the  sun,  and  the  moon,  and  the  stars,  about 
their  relative  speeds,  and  revolutions,  and  changes;  and 
to  hear  why  it  is  best  for  each  of  them  to  act  and  be  acted 
on  as  they  are  acted  on.  I_  never  thought  that,  when  he  said 
that  things  are  ordered  by  Mind,  he  would  introduce  any 
reason  for  their  being  as  they  are,  except  that  they  are  test 
so.  I  thought  that  he  would  assign  a  cause  to  each  thing, 
and  a  cause  to  the  universe,  and  then  would  go  on  to  ex¬ 
plain  to  me  what  was  best  for  each  thing,  and  what  was  the 
common  good  of  all.  1  would  not  have  sold  my  hopes  for 
a  great  deal :  I  seized  the  books  very  eagerly,  and  read  them 
as  fast  as  I  could,  in  order  that  I  might  know  what  is  best 
and  what  is  worse. 

All  my  splendid  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground,  my 
friend,  for' as "T  went  on  reading  I  found  that  the  writer 
made  no  use  of  Mind  at  all,  and  that  he  assigned  no  causes 
for  the  order  of  things.  His  causes  were  air,  and  ether, 
and  wafer,  and  many  other  strange  things.  I  thought  that 
he  was  exactly  like  a  man  who  should  begin  by  saying  that 
Socrates  does  all  that  he  does  by  Mind,  and  who,  when  he 
tried  to  give  a  reason  for  each  of  my  actions,  should  say, 
first,  that  I  am  sitting  here  now,  because  my  body  is  com¬ 
posed  of  bones  and  muscles,  and  that  the  bones  are  hard 
and  separated  by  joints,  while  the  jnuscles  can  be  tight¬ 
ened  and  loosened,  and,  together  with  the  flesh,  and  the 
skin  which  holds  them  together,  cover  the  bones;  and  that 
therefore,  when  the  bones  are  raised  in  their  sockets,  the 
relaxation  and  contraction  of  the  muscles  makes  it  possible 
for  me  now  to  bend  my  limbs,  and  that  that  is  the  cause  of 
my  sitting  here  with  my  legs  bent.  And  in  the  same  way 
he  would  go  on  to  explain  why  I  am  talking  fo  youT  he 
would  assign  voice,  and  air.  and  hearing,  and  a  thousand 
other  things  as  causes;  but  he  would  quite  forget  to.  men.- 


PHJEDO. 


1S5 


tion  the  real  cause,  which  is  that  since  the  Athenians 
thought  it  right  to  condemn  me,  T  have  thought  it  right  ; 
anti  j nsf  to  sit  here  and  to  submit  to  whatever “seiifence'lKey 
may  think  tit  to  impose.  For,  by  the, dog  of  Fgypt,  j  think 
that  these  muscles  ana  hones  would  long  ago  have  been  in 
Megara  or  Bceotia,  prompted  “by  their  opinion  of  what  is 
best,  if  I  had  not  thought  it  better  and  more  honorable  to 
submit  to  whatever  penalty  the  state  inflicts,  rather  than 
escape  by  flight.  But  to  call  these  tilings  causes'  is  too  ab¬ 
surd  !  If  ltwere  said  that  without  bones  and  muscles  and 
the  other  parts  of  my  body  I  'could' not  have  carried  my 
resolutions  into  effect,  'that  would  "he  true.  But  to  say  that 
they  are  the  cause  of  what"  I  do,  and  that  in  this  way  I  am 
acting  by  'Mind,  and  not  from  choice  of  what  is  best,  would 
be  a  very  loose  and  careless  way  of  talking.  It  simply 
means  that  a  hsan  cannot  distinguish  the  real  cause  from 
that  without  which  the  cause  cannot  be  the  cause,  and  this 
it  is,  I  think,  which  the  multitude,  groping  about  in  the 
dark,  speak  of  as  the  cause,  giving  it  a  name  which  does  not 
belong  to  it.  And  so  one  man  surrounds  the  earth  with  a 
vortex,  and  makes  ilielieavens  sustain  it.  Another  repre¬ 
sents  the  earth  as  a  fiat  kneading-trough,  and  "supports  it 
on  a  basis  of  air.  But  they  never  think  of  looking  for  a 
power  which  is  involved  in  these  things  being  disposed  as 
it  is  best  for  them  to  be,  nor  do  they  think  that  such  a 
power  has  any  divine  strength :  they  expect:  to  find  an  Atlas 
who  is  stronger  and  more  immortal  and  abler  to  hold  the 
world  together,  and  they  never  for  a  moment  imagine  that 
it  is  the  binding  force  of  goo'd'whtch  'really  hinds" and  holds 
things  together.  I  would  most  gladly  learn  the  nature  of 
that  kind  of  cause  from  any  man ;  but  I  wholly  failed  either 
to  discover  it  myself,  or  to  learn  it  from  any  one  else.  How¬ 
ever,  I  had  a  second  string  to  my  bow,  and  perhaps,  Cebes, 
you  would  like  me  to  describe  to  you  how  I  proceeded  in 
my  search  for  the  cause. 

I  should  like  to  hear  very  much  indeed,  he  replied. 

When  I  had  given  up  inquiring  into  real  existence,  he 
proceeded,  I  thought  that  I  must  take  care  that  I  did  not 
suffer  as  people  do  who  look  at  the  sun  during  an  eclipse. 


18G 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


For  they  are  apt  to  lose  their  eyesight,  unless  they  look 
at  the  sun’s  reflection  in  water  or  some  such  medium. 
That  danger  occurred  to  me.  1  was  afraid  that  my  soul 
might  be  completely  blinded  if  I  looked  at  thing*  will 
eyes,  and  tried  to  grasp  them  with  my"sehses.'  So‘1  thought 
that  I  must  h  ive' recourse to  conception's,  and  examine  the 
truth  of  existence  by  means  of  them.  Perhaps  my  lllus^ 
tfation  is  not  quite  accurate.  I  am  scarcely  prepared  to 
admit  that  he  who  examines  existence  through  conceptions 
is  dealing  with  mere  reflections,  any  more  than  he  who 
examines  it  as  manifested  in  sensible  objects.  However  I 
began  in  this  way.  I  assumed  in  each  case  whatever  prin¬ 
ciple.  I  judged  to  be  strongest;  and  then  I  h(?Td~tt?'  trite 
whatever  seemed  to  agree  with  it,  whether  in  the"  caser’of 
the  (Tause  or  of  anything  else,  and  as  untrue,  whatever 
seemed  not  to  agree  with  it.  I  should  like  "to  explain  my 
meaning  more  clearly :  I  don’t  think  you  understand  me  yet. 

Indeed  I  do  not  very  well,  said  Cebes. 

I  mean  nothing  new,  he  said ;  only  what  I  have  repeated 
over  and  over  again,  both  in  our  conversation  to-day  and 
at  other  times.  I  am  going  to  try  to  explain  to  you  the 
kind  of  cause  at  which  1  havejvork'eflr  ancl  1  will  go  back  to 
what,  we  have  so  oft<  i  "spokei  of  1  begin  with  tin*  as¬ 
sumption  that  there  exists  an  absolute  beauty,  and  an  abso¬ 
lute  good,  and  an  absolute  greatness,  ahp  so  on.”  If  you 
grant  me  this,  and  agree  that  they  exist,  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  show  you  what  my  cause  is,  and  to  discover  that  the  soul 
is  immortal. 

You  may  assume  that  I  grant  it  you,  said  Cebes;  go  on 
with  your  proof. 

Then  do  you  agree  with  me  in  what  follows?  he  asked. 
It  appears  to  me  that  if  anything  besides  absolute  beauty 
is  beautiful,  it  is  so  simply  because  it  partakes  of  absolute 
beauty,  and  I  say  the  same  of  all  phenomena.  Do  you  allow 
that  kind  of  cause? 

I  do,  he  answered. 

Well  then,  he  said,  I  no  longer  recognize,  nor  can  I  un¬ 
derstand,  these  other  wise  causes':  if  I  am  told  that  any¬ 
thing  is  beautiful  because  it  has  a  rich  color,  or  a  goodly 


PELEDO. 


1S7 


form,  or  the  like.  I  pay  no  attention,  -dor  such  language 
only. confuses  me;  and  in  a  simple  .and  plain,  and  perhaps 
a  foolish  way,  I  hold  to  the  doctrine  that  thanking.. is  only 
made  beagtiful  by  the  presence  or  communication.  or  what¬ 
ever  you  please  to  call  it,  of  absolute  beauty — I  do  not  wish 
to  insist  on  the  nature  of  the  communication,  but  what  I 
am  sure,  of  is,  that  it  is  absolute  beauty  which  makes  bilT 
beautiful  things  beautiful.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
safest  answer  that  I  can  give  myself  or  others ;  J.  believe 
that  I  shall  never  fall  if  I  hold  to  this  •  it  is  a  safe  answer 
to  make  to  myself  or  any  one  else,  that  it  is  absolute  beauty 
which  makes  beautiful  things  beautifuL  Don't  you  think 
so? 

I  do. 

And  it  is  size  that  makes  large  things  large,  and  larger 
things  larger,  and  smallness  that  makes  smaller  things 
smaller? 

Yes. 

Andji  yo  told  that  one  man  was  taller  than  an¬ 

other  by  a  head,  and  that  the  shorter  man  was  shorter  by 
a  head,  you  would  hot  accent  the  statement.  You  would 
protest  that  you  say  only,  that  the  greater  is  greater  by  size,’ 
and  that  size  is  the  cause  of  its  being  greater;  and  that  tlie 
less  is  only  less  by  smallness,  and  that  smallness  is  the 
cause  of  its  being  less.  You  would  be  afraid  to  assert  that 
a  man  is  greater  or  smaller  by  a  head,  lest  you  should  he 
met  by  the  retort,  first,  that  the  greater  is  greater,  and  the 
smaller  smaller,  by  the  same  thing,  and  secondly,  that 
the  greater  is  greater  by  a  head,  which  is  a  small  thing, 
and  that  it  is  truly  marvelous  that  a  small  thing  should 
ruake  a  man  great.  Should  you  not  be  afraid  of  that? 

Yes,  indeed,  said  Cebes,  laughing. 

And  you  would  be  afraid  to  say  that  ten  is  more  than 
eight  by  two,  and  that  two  is  the  cause  of  the  excess;  you 
would  say  that  ten.  was.  more  than  eight  by  number,  and 
that  number  is  the  cause  of  the  excess  ?  And  in  just  the 
same  way  you  would  be  afraid  to  say  that  a  thing  two 
cubits  long  was  longer  than  a  thing  one  cubit  long  by  half 
its  length,  instead  of  by  size,  would  you  not  ? 


1S8 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Yes,  certainly. 

A o-ain,  you  would  be  careful  not  to  affirm  that,  if  one  is 
added  to  one.  the  addition  is  the  cause  of  two,  or,  if  one 
is  divided,  that  the  division  is  the  cause  of  two?  You 

would  DTQtest  1— "y  tM  yfffl  Vrinic  nf  11(1  wav  in 
t hirer  can  be  Generated,  except  by  participat.  »i  in.  Us  own 
proper  essence:  and  that  you  can  give  no  cause  for  the^gen- 
eration  of  two  except  participation  in  duality ;  and  that  a-U 
things  which  are  to  be  two  must  participate  in  duality, 
while  whatever  ,k  to  ..be  onp  npi.st.j?articipate  in  unity,  Xou 
would  leave  the  explanation  of  these  d1v1s19ns.-and.AU.ld1- 
tions  and  all  ^subtleties  to  wiser  men  than  .yourself. 
You  would  he  frightened,  as  the  saying  is,  at  your  own 
shadow  and  ignorance,  and  would  hold  fast  to  the  safety  ot 
our  principle,  and  so  give  your  answer.  But  if  any  one 
should  attack  the  principle  itself,  you  would  not  mind  him 
or  answer  him  until  you  had  considered  whether  the  conse- 
ouences  of  it  are  consistent  or  inconsistent,  and  when  you 
had  to  give  an  account  of  the  principle  itself,  you  would 
give  it  in  the  same  way,  by  assuming  some  other  principle 
which  you  think  the  strongest  of  the  higher  ones,  and  so 
go  on  until  you  had  reached  a  satisfactory  resting-place. 
You  would  not  mix  up  the  first  principle  and  its  conse¬ 
quences  in  your  argument,  as  mere  disputants  do,  n  you 
really  wish  to  discover  anything  of  existence  Such  per¬ 
sons  will  very  likely  not  spend  a  single  word  or  thought 
upon  that:  for  they  are  clever  enough  to  be  able  to  please 
themselves  entirely,  though  their  argument  is  a  chaos.  But 
you  I  think,  if  you  are  a  philosopher,  will  do  as  I  say. 

Very  true,  said  Simmias  and  Cebes  together. 

Ech.  And  they  were  right,  Phaedo.  I  think  the  clear¬ 
ness  of  his  reasoning,  even  to  the  dullest,  is  quite  wonder- 

j  I 

X1  Phaedo.  Indeed,  Ecliecrates,  all  who  were  there  thought 

""  Eci,  So  do  we  who  were  not  there,  but  who  are  listening 
to  your  story.  But  how  did  the  argument  proceed  after 

L  ^pjicedo.  They  had  admitted  that  each  of  the  Ideas  exists, 


PHJEDO. 


1S9 


and  that  Phenomena  take  the  names  of  the  Ideas  as  they 
participate  in  them.  Socrates,  I  think,  then  went  on  to 
ask, — 

If  you  say  this,  do  you  not,  in  saying  that  Simmias  is 
taller  than  Socrates  and  shorter  than  Phaedo,  say  that 
Simmias  possesses  both  the  attribute  of  tallness  and  the 
attribute  of  shortness  ? 

I  do. 

But  you  admit,  he.  ..said,  that  the  prop  o  it  ion  that 
Simmias  is  taller  than  Socrates  is  not  exactly  true,  as  it  is 
stated:  Simmias  is  not  really  taller  because  he  is  Simmias, 
but  because  of  his  height.  .Nor  again  is  he.  taller  than 
Socrates  because  Socrates  is  Socrates,  but.  beea.use  of  Soc¬ 
rates'  shortness,  compared  with  Simmias’  tallness. 

True. 

Nor  is  Simmias  shorter  than  Phsedo  because  Phaedo 
is  Phasdo,  but  because  of  Phsedo’s  tallness  compared  with 
Simmias’  shortness. 

That  is  so. 

Then  in  this  way  Simmias  is  called  both  short  and  tall, 
when  he  is  between  the  two :  he  exceeds  the  shortness  of  one 
by  the  excess  of  his  height,  and  gives  the  other  a  tallness 
exceeding  his  own  shortness.  I  dare  say  you  think,  he 
said,  smiling,  that  my  language  is  like  a  legal  document  for 
precision  and  formality.  But  I  think  that  it  is  as  I  say. 

^  He  agreed. 

I  say  it  because  I  wTant  you  to  think  as  I  do.  It  seems 
to  me  not  only  that  absolute  greatness  will  never  he  great 
'and"  small  "at  once,  but  also  that  greatness  in  us  never 
admits  smallness,  and  will  not  be  exceeded.  One  of  two 
things  must  happen:  either  the  greater  will  give  way  and 
fly  at  the  approach  of  its  opposite,’ the  less,  or  it  will  perish. 
It  will  not  stand  its  ground,  and  receive  smallness,  and* be 
other  than  it  was,  ju.’t  as  I  stand  my  ground,  and  receive 
smallness  and  remain  the  very  same  small  man  that  I 
was.  But  greatness  cannot  endure  to  be  small,  being  great. 
Just  in  the  ..same  way"  again  smallness  in”u£'will'n??6'r‘be- 
come  nor  b.e  great:  nor  will  any. opposite,  while  iFreihains 
wbal  it  ryag,  become  or  be  at  the  same  time  the  opposite  "bf 


190 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


what  it  was.  Either  it  goes  away,  or  jt  perishes  in  the 
change. _ 

That  is  exactly  what  I  think,  said  Cebes. 

Thereupon  some  one — I  am  not  sure  who — said. 

But  surely  is  not  this  just  the  reverse  of  what  we  agreed 
to  be  true  earlier  in  the  argument,  that  the  greater  is 
generated  from  the  less,  and  the  less  from  the  greater,  and, 
in  short,  that  opposites  are  generated  from  opposites? 
But-now  it  seems  to  be  denied  that  this  can  ever  happen. 

Socrates  inclined  his  head  to  the  speaker  and  listened. 
Well  and  bravely  remarked,  he  said :  but  you  have  not 
noticed  the  difference  between  the  two  propositions.  What 
we  said  then  was  that  a  concrete  thing  is  generated  from” 
its  opposite:  what  we  say  hbwTs  .that "the"  absolute  opposite 
_ean  never  become  opposite  to  itself,  e]t)mr~when  ft  is  in  us, 
or  when  it  is  in  nature.  We  were  speaking  then  of  thing's 
in  which  the  opposites  are,  and  we  named  them  after  those 
opposites ;  but  now  we  are  speaking  of  the  opposites  them¬ 
selves,  whose  inherence  gives  the  things  their  names  :  and 
they,"  we  say,  will  never  Be'  generated  from  each  other. 
At  the  same  time  he  “turned To  Cebes  and  asked.  Bid  his 
objection  trouble  you  at  all,  Cebes? 

JSfo,  replied  Cebes;  I  don’t  feel  that  difficulty.  But  I 
will  not  deny  that  many  other  things  trouble  me. 

Then  we  are  quite  agreed  on  this  point,  he  said.  An 
opposite  will  never  be  opposite  to  itself. 

To.  n'Ever,  Tie  replied. 

Now  tell  me  again,  he  said  ;  do  you  agree  with  me  in  this? 
Are  there  not  things  which  you  call  heat  and  cold  ? 

Yes. 

Are  they  the  same  as  snow  and  fire  ? 

No,  certainly  not. 

Heat  is  different  from  fire,  and  cold  from  snow? 

Yes. 

But  I  suppose,  as  we  have  said,  that  you  do  not  think 
that  snow  can  ever  receive  heat,  and  vet  remain  what  it 
was,  snow  and  hot:  it  will  either  retire  or  perish  at  the 
approach  of  heat. 

Certainly. 


PHiEDO. 


X 


191 


And  fire,  again,  will  tether  retire  or  perish  at  the  ap¬ 
proach  of  cold.  It  will  nevtuv  endure  to  receive  the  cold  and 
still  remain  what  it  was,  fire  an>d  coid. 

True,  he  said. 

Then,  it  is  true  of  some  of  these  things,  that  not  only 
the  idea  itself  has  a  right  to  its  name  i;-,T  all  time,  but  that 
something  else  too,  which  is  not  the  idea,  ^ut  which  has  the 
form  of  the  idea  wherever  it  exists,  shares  ti.  a  name.  Per¬ 
haps  my  meaning  will  be  clearer  by  an  e  ^Tnple.  The 
odd  ought  always  to  have  the  name  of  odd,  ougmt  it  not  ? 

Yes,  certainly. 

Well,  my  question  is  this.  Is  the  odd  the  only  tiding 
with  this  name,  or  is  there  something  else,  which  is  no^ 
the  same  as  the  odd,  but  which  must  always  have  this 
name,  together  with  its  own,  because  its  nature  is  such 
that  it  is  never  separated  from  the  odd  ?  There  are  many 
examples  of  what  I  mean:  let  us  take  one  of  them,  the 
number  three,  and  consider  it.  Do  you  not  think  that  we 
must  always  call  TT  by  I  he-  name  of  odd,  as  well  as  by  its 
own  name,  although  the  odd  is  hot  the  same  as  the;  number 
three  ?  Yet  the  nature  of  the  number  three,,  and  of  the 
number  five,  and  of~halt  the  whole  series  of  numbers,  is 
such  that  each  of  illem  is  ocTdjThough  none  "of  them  is  the 
same  as  .the  odd.  In  the  same"  way  the  number  two,  and 
the  number  four,  and  the  whole  of  the  other  series  of 
numbers,  are  each  of  them  always  even,  though  they  are 
not  the  same  as  the  even.  Do  you  agree  or  not? 

Yes,  of  course,  he  replied. 

Then  see  what  I  want  to  show  you.  It  is  not  only 
opposite  ideas  which  appear  not  to  admit  their  opposites  ; 
things  also  which  are  not  opposites,  but  which  always  con¬ 
tain  oppositesj  seem  as  if  they  would  not  admit  the  idea 
which  is  opposite  to  the  idea  that  they  contain :  they  either 
perish,  or  retire  at  its  approach.  Shall  we.  not  say  that  the 
number  three  would  perish  or  endure  anything  sooner  than 
become  even  while  it  remains  three? 

Yes.  indeed,'  said  Cebes. 

And  yet,  said  he,  the  number  two  is  not  the  opposite  of 
the  number  three!  ’ 


192 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SO  oRATES. 


No,  certainly  not. 

Then  it  is  not  only  the  ideas  which  will  not  endure  the 
approach  o?  th  m'  opposites ;  there  are  some  othei^tlllhgs 
Besides  which  will  not  endure  such  an  approach. 

That  is  qnite  true.  '^e  said. 

Shall  we  deternr  ae,  if  we  can,  what  is  their  nature? 
he  asked. 

Certainly. 

Will  thev  °t  f>e  those  things,  Cebes,  which  force  what¬ 
ever  they  are  in  to  have  always  not  its  own  idea  only,  But 
the  ide^i  °f  some  opposite  as  well  ? 

W'nat  do  you  mean? 

Only  what  we  were  saying  just  now.  You  know,  I 
think,  that  whatever  the  idea  of  three  is  in,  is  bound  to  be 
not  three  only,  but  odd  as  well. 

Certainly. 

Well,  we  say  that  the  opposite  idea  to  the  form  which 
produces  this  result  will  never  come  to  that  thing. 

Indeed,  no. 

But  the  idea  of  the  odd  produces  it  ? 

Yes. 

And  the  idea  of  the  even  is  the  opposite  of  the  idea  of 
the  odd? 

Yes. 

Then  the  idea  of  the  even  will  never  come  to  three? 
Certainly  not. 

So  three  has  no  part  in  the  even? 

None. 

Then  the  number  three  is  uneven? 


Yes. 

So  much  for  the  definition  which  I  undertook  to  give 
of  things  which  are  not  opposites;  and  yet" do  not  admit 
opposites;  thus  we  have  seen  that  the  number  three  does 
not  admit  the  even,  though  it  is  not  the  opposite  of  the 
even,  for  it  always  brings  with  it  the  opposite  of  the  even ; 
and  the  number  two  does  not  admit  the  odd,  nor  fire  cold, 
and  so  on.  Do  you  agree  with  me  in  saying  that  not  only 
does  the  opposite  not  admit  the  opposite  but  also  That 
whatever  brings  with  it  an  opposite  of  anything  to  'which 


PHiEDO. 


193 


it  goes,  .lever,  admits  the  opposite  of* that  which  it  brings? 
I  ."f  me  recall  this  to  you  again  ,  to  ere  is  n  *ej 

etition.  Five  will  noy  admit  the  idea  of  the  even,  nor 
will  the  double  of  five — ten — admit  the  idea  of  the  odd. 
It  is  not  itself  an  opposite,  yet  it  will  not  admit  the  idea 
of  the  odd.  Again,  one  and  a  half,  a  half,  and  the  other 
numbers  of  that  kind  will  not  admit  the  idea  of  the  whole, 
nor  again  will  such  numbers  as  a  third.  Do  you  follow 
and  agree  ? 

I  follow  3rou  and  entirely  agree  with  you,  he  said. 

Now  begin  again,  and  answer  me,  he  said.  And  imitate 
me ;  do  not  answer  me  in  the  terms  of  my  question :  I 
mean,  do  not  give  the  old  safe  answer  which  I  have  already 
spoken  of,  for  I  see  another  way  of  safety,  which  is  the 
result  of  what  we  have  been  saying.  If  you  ask  me,  what 
which  must,  be.,  in  .the  ..body  to  make  it  hot.,  I  shall 
not  give  our  old  safe  and  stupid  answer,  and  say  that  it , is 
heat;  I  shall  make  a  more  refined .  answer,  drawn  from 
wliat  \ye  have  been  saying,  and  reply,  fire.  If  you  ask 
me,  what  is  that  which  must.be  in  the  body  to.  make,  it 
sick,  I  shall  not  say  sickness,  but  fever:  and  again  to  the 
question  what  is  that,  which,  must  be  in  number  to  make  it 
odd,  I  shall  not, reply  oddness,  but  unity,  and  so  on.  Do 
you.  ..understand  my  ..meaning  clearly  yet  ? 

Yes,  quite,  he  said. 

Then,  he  went  on,  tell  me,  what  is  that  which  must  be 
in. .a, bodv  ho  make-  it-nliv-e ? 

A^jSOuh  he  replied. 

And. J&. ..this- .always  so? 

Qf  course,  he  said. 

Then  the  soul  always  brings  life  to  whatever  contains 
her  ? 

No 'doubt,  he  answered. 

And  is  there  an  opposite  to  life,  or  not? 

Yes. 

What  is  it  ? 

Death. 

And  we  have  already  .  agreed  that.,  th.0,  soul  cannot  ever 
receive  the  opposite  of  what  she  .brings? 

13 


194  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

Yes,  certainly  we  have,  said  Cebes. 

Well;  what  name  did  we  give  to  that  which  does  not 
admit  the  idea  of  the  even  ? 

The  uneven,  he  replied. 

And  what  do  we  call  that  which  does  not  admit  justice 

or  music? 

The  unjust,  and  the  unmusical. 

Good ;  and  what  do  we  call  that  which  does  not  admit 
death?  "  "" 

The  immortal,  he  said. 

And  the  soul  does  not  admit  death? 

No. 

Then  the  soul  is  immortal? 

It  is. 

Good,  he  said.  Shall  we  say  that  this  is  proved?  What 
do  you  think? 

Yes,  Socrates,  and  very  sufficiently. 

Well,  Cebes,  he  said,  if  the  odd  had  been  necessarily 
imperishable,  must  not  three  have  been  imperishable? 

Of  course. 

And  if  cold  had  been  necessarily  imperishable,j3now 
would  have  retired  safe  and  unmelted,  whenever  warmth 
was  applied  to  it.  It  would  not  have  perished,  and  it  would 
not  have  stayed  and  admitted  the  heat. 

True,  he  said. 

In  the  same  way,  I  suppose,  if  warmth  were  imperish¬ 
able,  whenever  cold  attacked  fire,  the  fire  would  never  have 
been  extinguished  or  have  perished.  It  would  have  gone 
away  in  safety. 

Necessarily,  lie  replied. 

And  must  we  not  say  the  same  of  the  immortal  ?  he 
asked.  If  the  immortal  is  imperishable,  the  soul  cannot 
perish  when  death  comes  upon  her.  It  follows  from  what 
we  have  said  that  she  will  not  ever  admit  death,  or  be  in 
a  state  of  death,  any  more  titan  three,  or  thdodd'  itself, 
will  ever  be  even,  or  fire,  or  the  heat  itself  which  Is  in 
fire,  cold.  But,  it  may  be  said,  Granted  that  the  odd  does 
not* become  even  at  the  approach  of  the  even;  why,  when 
the  odd  has  perished,  may  not  the  even  come  into  its 


PHASDO. 


195 


place?  We  could  not  contend  in  reply  that  it  does  not 
perish,  for  the. uneven  is  not  imperishable :  if  we  had  agreed 
that  the  uneven  was  imperishable,  we  could  have  'easily 
contended  that  the  odd  and  three  go  away  at  the  approach 
of  the  even;  and  we  could  have  urged  the  same  contention 
about  fire  and  heat  and  the  rest,  could  we  not? 

Yes,  certainly. 

And  now,  if  we  are  agreed  that  the  immortal  is  im¬ 
perishable,  that  the  soul  will  be  not  immortal  only,  but 
also  imperishable ;  otherwise  we  shall  require  another  argu¬ 
ment. 

Nay,  he  said,  there  is  no  need  of  that,  as  far  as  this 
point  goes;  for  if  the  immortal,  which  is  eternal,  will 
admit  of  destruction,  what  will  not? 

And  all  men  would  admit,  said  Socrates,  that  God,  and 
the  essential  form  of  life,  and  all  else  that  is  immortal, 
never  perishes. 

All  men,  indeed,  he  said,  and,  what  is  more,  I  think, 
all  gods  would  admit  that. 

Then  if  the  immortal  is  indestructible,  must  not  the 
soul,  if  itjbe" immortal,  he  imperishable? 

Certainly,  it  must. 

Then,  it  seems,  when  death  attacks  a  man,  his  mortal 
part  dies,  but  his  immortal  part  retreats  before  death,  and 
goes  away  safe  and  indestructible. 

Is  seems  so. 

Then,  Cebes,  said  he,  beyond  all  question  the  soul  is 
immortal  and  imperishable;  and  our  souls  will  indeed 
exist  in  the  other  world. 

I,  Socrates,  he  replied,  have  no  more  objections  to  urge; 
your  reasoning  has  quite  satisfied  me.  If  Simmias,  or 
any  one  else,  has  anything  to  say,  it  would  be  well  for  him 
to  say  it  now :  for  I  know  not  to  what  other  reason  he  can 
defer  the  discussion,  if  he  wants  to  say  or  to  hear  anything 
touching  this  matter. 

No,  indeed,  said  Simmias;  neither  have  I  any  further 
ground  for  doubt  after  what  you  have  said.  Yet  I  cannot 
help  feeling  some  doubts  still  in  my  mind ;  for  the  subject 


196 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


of  our  conversation  is  a  vast  one,  and  I  distrust  the  feeble¬ 
ness  of  man. 

You  are  right,  Simmias,  said  Socrates,  and  more  than 
that,  you  must  re-examine  our  original  assumptions,  how¬ 
ever  certain  they  seem  to  you  ;  and  when  you  have  analyzed 
them  sufficiently,  you  will,  I  think,  follow  the  argument, 
as  far  as  man  can  follow  it ;  and  when  that  becomes  clear 
to  you,  you  will  seek  for  nothing  more. 

That  is  true,  he  said. 

But  then,  my  friends,  said  he,  we  must  think  of  this. 
If  it  be  true  that  the  soul  is  immortal,  we  have  .to.  take 
care  of  her,  not  ■  •  ly  gount  of  the  time  which  we 
call  life,  but  also  .am. account  of  all  tirng,  Xow  we  ran 
fee  Tiow  terrible  is  the  danger  of  neglect.  For  if  death 
had  boon  a  release  from  all  things,  it  would  have  been,  a 

fodsend  to  the  wicked  ;  for  when  they  died They"  worj^Q^je 
eeh  released  with  their  souls  from  the.  body.  and  .  from 
tfieir  own  wickedness.  But  now  we  have  ionmd  ffiflt  the 
soil  is  immortal;  and  so  her  only  refuge  .aa&^Sgli'u . 
from  evil  is  to  become  as  perfect  and  wise  as  possible. 
For  she  takes  nothing  with  her  to  the  other  world  but 
her  education  and  culture ;  and  these,  it  is  said,  are  of  the 
greatest  service  or  of  the  greatest  injury  to  the  dead  man, 
at  the  very  beginning  of  his  journey  thither.  For  it 
is  said  that  the  genius,  who  has  had  charge  of  each  man  in 
his  life,  proceeds  to  lead  him.  when  he  is  dead,  to  a  certain 
place,  where  the  departed  have  to  assemble  and  receive 
judgment,  and  then  go  to  the  world  below  with  the  guide 
who  is  appointed  to  conduct  them  thither.  And  when  they 
have  received  their  deserts  there,  and  remained  the  ap¬ 
pointed  time,  another  guide  brings  them  back  again  after 
many  long  revolutions  of  ages.  So  this  journey  is  not  as 
iEschylus  describes  it  in  the  Telephus,  where  he  says  that 
“  a  simple  way  leads  to  Hades.”  But  I  think  that  the 
way  is  neither  simple  nor  single ;  there  would  have  been 
no  need  of  guides  had  it  been  so ;  for  no  one  could  miss 
the  way,  if  there  were  but  one  path.  But  this  road  must 
have  many  branches  and  many  windings,  as  I  judge  from 


PHJEDO. 


197 


the  rites  of  burial  on  earth.1  The  orderly  and  wise  soul 
follows  her  leader,  and  is  not  ignorant  of  the  things  of 
that  world;  but  the  soul  which  lusts  after  the  body,  flut¬ 
ters  about  the  body  and  the  visible  world  for  a  long  time, 
as  I  have  said,  and  struggles  hard  and  painfully,  and  ’at 
last  is  forcibly  and  reluctantly  dragged  away  by  her  ap¬ 
pointed  genius.  And  when  she  comes  to  the  place  where 
the  other  souls  are,  if  she  is  impure  and  stained  with 
evil, "and  has  been  concerned  in  foul  murders,  or  if  she 
has  committed  any  other  crimes  that  are  akin  to  these, 
and  the  deeds  of  kindred  souls,  then  every  one  shuns  her 
and  turns  aside  from  meeting  her,  and  will  neither  be 
her  companion  nor  her  guide,  and  she  wanders  about  by 
herself  in  extreme  distress  until  a  certain  time  is  com¬ 
pleted,  and  then  she  is  borne  away  by  force  to  the  habita¬ 
tion  which  befits  her.  But  the  soul  that  has  spent  her 
life  in  purity  and  temperance  has  the  gods  for  her  compan¬ 
ions  and  guides,  and  dwells  in  the  place  which  befits  her. 
There  are  many  wonderful  places  in  the  earth;  and  neither 
its  nature  nor  its  size  is  what  those  who  are  wont  to  de¬ 
scribe  it  imagine,  as  a  friend  has  convinced  me. 

What  do  you  mean,  Socrates?  said  Simmias.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  the  earth  myself,  but  I  have 
never  heard  the  view  of  which  you  are  convinced.  I  should 
like  to  hear  it  very  much. 

Well,  Simmias,  I  don’t  think  that  it  needs  the  skill 
of  Glaucus  to  describe  it  to  you,  but  I  think  that  it  is 
beyond  the  skill  of  Glaucus  to  prove  it  true:  I  am  sure 
that  I  could  not  do  so;  and  besides,  Simmias,  even  if  I 
knew  how,  I  think  that  my  life  would  come  to  an  end 
before  the  argument  was  finished.  But  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  my  describing  to  you  what  I  believe  to  be  the 
form  of  the  earth,  and  its  regions. 

Well,  said  Simmias,  that  will  do. 

In  the  first  place  then,  said  he,  I  believe  that  the  earth 
is  a  spherical  body  placed  in  the  center  of  the  heavens,  and 

5  Sacrifices  were  offered  to  the  gods  of  the  lower  world  in 
places  where  three  roads  met, 


1D8 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


that  therefore  it  has  no  need  of  air  or  of  any  other  force 
to  support  it:  the  equiformity  of  the  heavens  in  all  their 
parts,  and  the  equipoise  of  the  earth  itself,  are  sufficient 
to  hold  it  up.  A  thing  in  equipoise  placed  in  the  center 
of  what  is  equiforra  cannot  incline  in  any  direction, 
either  more  or  less:  it  will  remain  unmoved  and  in  per¬ 
fect  balance.  That,  said  he,  is  the  first  thing  that  I 
believe. 

And  rightly,  said  Simmias. 

Also,  he  proceeded,  I  think  that  the  earth  is  of  vast 
extent,  and  that  we  who  dwell  between  the  Phasis  and  the 
pillars  of  Heracles  inhabit  only  a  small  portion  of  it, 
and  dwell  round  the  sea,  like  ants  or  frogs  round  a  marsh ; 
and  T  believe  that  many  other  men  dwell  elsewhere  in 
similar  places.  For  everywhere  on  the  earth  there  are 
many  hollows  of  every  kind  of  shape  and  size,  into  which 
the  water  and  the  mist  and  the  air  collect ;  but  the  earth 
itself  lies  pure  in  the  purity  of  the  heavens,  wherein  are 
the  stars,  and  which  men  who  speak  of  these  things  com¬ 
monly  call  ether.  The  water  and  the  mist  and  the  air, 
which  collect  into  the  hollows  of  the  earth,  are  the  sedi¬ 
ment  of  it.  Xow  we  dwell  in  these  hollows  though  we 
think  that  we  are  dwelling  on  tli'e  surface  of  the  earth. 
We  are  just  like  a  man  dwelling  in  the  depths  ol  the 
ocean,  who  thought  that  he  was  dwelling  on  its  surface, 
and  believed  that  the  sea  was.  the  heaven,  because  he 
saw  the  sun  and  the  stars  through  the  water;  but  who 
was  too  weak  and  slow  ever  to  have  reached  the  water’s 
surface,  and  to  have  lifted  his  head  from  thg  sea,  and 
come  out  from  his  depths  to  our  world,  and  seen,  or  heard 
from  one  who  had  seen,  how  much  purer  and  fairer  our 
world  was  than  the  place  wherein  he  dwelt.  We  are’just 
in  that  state;  we  dwell  in  a  hollow  of  the  earth,  and  think 
that  we  are  dwelling  on  its  surface;  and  we  call  the  air 
heaven,  and  think  it  to  be  the  heaven  wherein  the  stars 
run  their  courses.  But  the  truth  is  that  we  are  too  weak 
and  slow  to  pass  through  fo  the  .  1  of  ihe  air.  For 
if  any  man  could  reach  the  surface,  or. take  wings  and  fly 
upward,  he- would  look  up  and  see  a  world  beyond,  just 


PH^EDO. 


199 


as  the  fishes  look  forth  from  the  sea,  and  behold  our  world. 
And  he  would  know  that  find  was  the  real  heavon,  and 
the  real  light,  and  the  real  earth,  if  his  nature  were  able 
to. ..endure,  .the  -sight.  For  this  earth,  and  its  stones,  and 
all  its  regions  have  been  spoiled  and  corroded,  as  things 
in  the  sea  are  corroded  by  the  brine :  nothing  of  any  worth 
grows  in  the  sea,  nor,  in  short,  is  there  anything  therein 
without  blemish,  but,  wherever  land  does  exist,  there  are 
only  caves,  and  sand,  and  vast  tracts  of  mud  and  slime, 
which  are  not  worthy  even  to  be  compared  with  the  fair 
things  of  our  world.  But  you  would  think  that  the  things 
of  that  other  world  still  further  surpass  the  things  of  our 
world.  I  can  tell  you  a  tale,  Simmias,  about  what  is  on 
the  earth  that  lies  beneath  the  heavens,  which  is  worth  your 
hearing. 

Indeed,  Socrates,  said  Simmias,  we  should  like  to  hear 
your  tale  very  much. 

Well,  my  friend,  he  said,  this  is  my  tale.  In  the  first 
place,  the  earth  itself,  if  a  man  could  look  at  it  from  above, 
is  like  one  of  those  balls  which  are  covered  with  twelve 
pieces  of  leather,  and  is  marked  with  various  colors,  of 
which  the  colors  that  our  painters  use  here  are,  as  it  were, 
samples.  But  there  the  whole  earth  is  covered  with  them, 
and  with  others  which  are  far  brighter  and  purer  ones 
than  they.  For  part  of  it  is  purple  of  marvelous  beauty, 
and  part  of  it  is  golden,  and  the  white  of  it  is  whiter  than 
chalk  or  snow.  It  is  made  up  of  the  other  colors  in  the 
same  way,  and  also  of  colors  which  are  more  beautiful 
than  any  that  we  have  ever  seen.  The  very  hollows  in  it, 
that  are  filled  with  water  and  air,  have  themselves  a  kind 
of  color,  and  glisten  amid  the  diversity  of  the  others,  so 
that  its  form  appears  as  one  unbroken  and  varied  surface. 
And  what  grows  in  this  fair  earth — its  trees  and  flowers 
and  fruit — is  more  beautiful  than  what  grows  with  us 
in  the  same  proportion :  and  so  likewise  are  the  hills  and 
the  stones  in  their  smoothness  and  transparency  and  color : 
the  pebbles  which  we  prize  in  this  world,  our  cornelians, 
and  jaspers,  and  emeralds,  and  the  like,  are  but  fragments 
of  them;  but  there  all  the  stones  are  as  our  precious 


200 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


stones,  and  even  more  beautiful  still.  The  reason  of 
this  is  that  they  are  pure,  and  not  corroded  or  spoiled,  as 
ours  are,  with,  the  decay  and  brine  from  the  sediment  that 
collects  in  the  hollows,  and  brings  to  the  stones  and  the 
earth  and  all  animals  and  plants  deformity  and  disease. 
All  these  things,  and  with  them  gold  and  silver  and  the 
like,  adorn  the  real  earth :  and  they  are  conspicuous  from 
their  multitude  and  size,  and  the  many  places  where  they 
are  found;  so  that  he  who  could  behold  it  would  be  a 
happy  man.  Many  creatures  live  upon  it;  and  there  are 
men,  some  dwelling  inland,  and  others  round  the  air,  as 
we  dwell  round  the  sea.  and  others  in  islands  encircled  by 
the  air,  which  lie  near  the  continent.  In  a  word,  they  use 
the  air  a?  we  use  water  and  the  sea,  and  the  ether  as  we 
the'  air.  — The  temperature  of  their  seasons  is  such  that 
thy  are  free  from  disease,  and  live  much  longer  than  we 
do;  and  in  sight,  and  hearing,  and  smell,  and  the  other 
senses,  they  are  as  much  more  perfect  than  we,  as  air  is 
purer  than  water,  and  ether  than  air.  Moreover  they 
have  sanctuaries  and  temples  of  the  gods,  in  which  the  gods 
dwell  in  very  truth ;  they  hear  the  voices  and  oracles  of  the 
gods,  and  see  them  in  visions,  and  have  intercourse  with 
them  face  to  face :  and  they  see  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars 
as  they  really  are;  and  in  other  matters  their  happiness 
is  of  a  piece  with  this. 

That  is  the  nature  of  the  earth  as  a  whole,  and  of  what 
is  upon  it ;  and  everywhere  on  its  globe  there  are  many 
regions  in  the  hollows,  some  of  them  deeper  and  more 
open  than  that  in  which  we  dwell ;  and  others  also  deeper, 
but  with  narrower  mouths;  and  others  again  shallower 
and  broader  than  ours.  All  these  are  connected  by  many 
channels  beneath  the  earth,  some  of  them  narrow  and 
others  wide ;  and  there  are  passages,  by  which  much  water 
flows  from  one  of  them  to  another,  as  into  basins,  and  vast 
and  never-failing  rivers  of  both  hot  and  cold  water  beneath 
the  earth,  and  much  fire,  and  great  rivers  of  fire,  and  many 
rivers  of  liquid  mud,  some  clearer  and  others  more  turbid, 
like  the  rivers  of  mud  which  precede  the  lava  stream  in 
Sicilv,  and  the  lava  stream  itself,  These  fill  each  hollow 


PHJEDO. 


201 


in  turn,  as  each  stream  flows  round  to  it.  All  of  them  are 
moved  up  and  down  by  a  certain  oscillation  which  is  in 
the  earth,  and  which  is  produced  by  a  natural  cause  of 
the  following  kind.  One  of  the  chasms  in  the  earth  is 
larger  than  all  the  others,  and  pierces  right  through,  it, 
from  side  to  side.  Homer  describes  it  in  the  words — 

“  Far  away,  where  is  the  deepest  depth  beneath  the  earth.” 

And  elsewhere  he  and  many  other  of  the  poets  have  called 
it  Tartarus.  All  the  rivers  flow  into  this  chasm,  and  out 
of  it  again;  and  each  of  them  comes  to  be  like  the  soil 
through  which  it  flows.  The  reason  why  they  all  flow  into 
and  out  of  the  chasm  is  that  the  liquid  has  no  bottom  or 
base  to  rest  on:  it  oscillates  and  surges  up  and  down,  and 
the  air  and  wind  around  it  do  the  same:  for  they  accom¬ 
pany  it  in  its  passages  to  the  other  side  of  the  earth,  and 
in  its  return ;  and  just  as  in  breathing  the  breath  is  always 
in  process  of  being  exhaled  and  inhaled,  so  there  the  wind, 
oscillating  with  the  water,  produces  terrible  and  irresistible 
blasts  as  it  comes  in  and  goes  out.  When  £he  water 
retires  with  a  rush  to  what  we  call  the  lower  parts  of  the 
earth,  it  flows  through  to  the  regions  of  those  streams,  and 
fills  them,  as  if  it  were  pumped  intovthem.  And  again, 
when  it  rushes  back  hither  from  those  regions,  it  fills  the 
streams  here  again,  and  then  they  flow  through  the  channels 
of  the  earth,  and  make  their  way  to  their  several  places, 
and  create  seas,  and  lakes,  and  rivers,  and  springs.  Then 
they  sink  once  more  into  the  earth,  and  after  making,  some 
a  long  circuit  through'  many  regions,  and  some  a  shorter 
one  through  fewer,  they  fall  again  into  Tartarus,  some  at 
a  point  much  lower  than  that  at  which  they  rose,  and  others 
only  a  little  lower;  but  they  all  flow  in  below  their  point 
of  issue.  And  some  of  them  burst  forth  again  on  the  side 
on  which  they  entered;  others  again  on  the  opposite  side; 
and  there  are  some  which  completely  encircle  the  earth, 
twining  round  it,  like  snakes,  once  or  perhaps  oftener,  and 
then  fall  again  into  Tartarus,  as  low  down  as  they  can. 
They  can  descend  as  far  as  the  center  of  the  earth  from 


202 


'  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


either  side  but  no  farther.  Beyond  that  point  on  either 
side  they  would  have  to  flow  uphill. 

These  streams  are  many,  and  great,  and  various;  but 
among  them  all  are  four,  of  which  the  greatest  and  outer¬ 
most,  which  flows  round  the  whole  of  the  earth,  is  called 
Oceanus.  Opposite  Oceanus,  and  flowing  in  the  reverse 
direction,  is  Acheron,  which  runs  through  desert  places, 
and  then  under  the  earth  until  it  reaches  the  Acherusian 
lake,  whither  the  souls  of  the  dead  generally  go,  and  after 
abiding  there  the  appointed  time,  which  for  somelsTo'nger, 
and  for  others  shorter,  are  sent  forth  again  to  he  horn 
as  animals^  The  third  river  rises  between  these  two,  and 
n  ear'll  s  "source  falls  into  a  vast  and  fiery  region,  and  forms 
a  lake  larger  than  our  sea.  seething  with  water  and  mud. 
Thence  it  goes  forth  turbid  and  muddy  round  the  earth, 
and  after  many  windings  comes  to  the  end  of  the  Acheru¬ 
sian  lake,  but  it  does  not  mingle  with  the  waters  of  the 
lake;  and  after  many  windings  more  beneath  the  earth, 
it  falls  into  the  lower  part  of  Tartarus.  This  is  the  river 
that  men  name  Pyriphlegethon ;  and  portions  of  it  are 
discharged  in  the  lava  streams,  wherever  they  are  found 
on  the  earth.  The  fourth  river  is  on  the  opposite  side: 
it  is  said  to  fall  first  into  a  terrible  and  savage  region,  of 
which  the  color  is  one  dark  blue.  It  is  called  the  Stygian 
stream,  and  the  lake  which  its  waters  create  is  called 
Styx.  After  falling  into  the  lake  and  receiving  strange 
powers  in  its  waters,  it  sinks  into  the  earth,  and  runs  wind¬ 
ing  about  in  the  opposite  direction  to  Pyriphlegethon, 
which  it  meets  in  the  Acherusian  lake  from  the  opposite 
side.  Its  waters  too  mingle  with  no  other  waters:  it  flows 
round  in  a  circle  and  falls  into  Tartarus  opposite  to  Pyri¬ 
phlegethon.  •  Its  name,  the  poets  say,  is  Cocytus. 

Such  is  the  nature  of  these  regions;  and  when  the  dead 
come  to  the  place  whither  each  is  brought  by  his  genius, 
sentence  is  first  passed  on  them  according  as  their  lives 
have  been  good  and  holy,  or  not.  Those  whose  lives  seem 
to  have  been  neither  very  good  nor  very  bad,  go  to  the 
river  Acheron,  and  embarking  on  the  vessels  which  thev 
find  there,  proceed  to  the  lake.  There  they  dwell,  and  are. 


PHiEDO. 


203 


punished  for  the  crimes  which  they  have  committed,  and 
are  purified  and  absolved';'  and  for  their  good  deeds  they 
are  rewarded,  eacli  according  to  his  deserts.'  But  all  who 
appear  to  be  incurable  from  the  enormity  of  their  sins — 
those  who  have  committed  many  and  great  sacrileges,  and 
foul  and  lawless  murders,  or  other  crimes  like  these— are 
hurled  down  to  Tartarus  by  the  fate  which  is  their  due, 
whence,  they  never,  come  forth  again.  Those  who  have 
committed  sins  which  are  great,  but  not  too  great  for  atone¬ 
ment,  such,  for  instance,  as  those  who  have  used  violence 
towards  a  father  or  a  mother  in  wrath,  and  then  repented 
of  it  for  the  rest  of  their  lives,  or  who  have  committed 
homicide  in  some  similar  way,  have  also  to  descend  into 
Tartarus :  but  then  when  they  have  been  there  a  year,  a 
wave  casts  them  forth,  the  homicides  by  Cocytus,  and  the 
parricides  and  matricides  hy  Pyriplilegethon ;  and  when 
they  have  been  carried  as  far  as  the  Acherusian  lake  they 
cry  out  and  call  on  those  whom  they  slew  or  outraged,  and 
beseech  and  pray  that  they  may  be  allowed  to  come  out 
into  the  lake,  and  be  received  as  comrades.  And  if  they 
prevail,  they  come  out,  and  their  sufferings  cease;  but  if 
they  do  not,  they  are'  carried  back  to  Tartarus,  and  thence 
into  the  rivers  again,  and  their  punishment  does  not  end 
until  they  have  prevailed  on  those  whom  they  wronged: 
such  is  the  sentence  pronounced  on  them  by  their  judges. 
But  such  as  have  been  pre-eminent  for  holiness  in  their  lives 
are  set  free  and  released  from  this  world,  as  from  a  prison: 
they  ascend  to  their  pure  habitation,  and  dwell  on  the 
earth’s  surface.  And  those  of  them  who  have  sufficiently 
purified  themselves  with  philosophy,  live  thenceforth  with¬ 
out  bodies,  and  proceed  to  dwellings  still  fairer  than  these, 
which  are  not  easily  described,  and  of  which  I  have  not 
iiime  to  speak  now.  But  for  all  these  reasons,  Simmias, 
we  must  leave  nothing  undone  that  we  may  obtain  virtue 
and  wisdom  in  this  life.  Noble  is  the  prize,  and  great  tint 
hope. 

A  man  of  sense  will  not  insist  that  these  things  are 
exactly  as  I  have  described  them.  But  I  think  that  he 
will  believe  that  something  of  the  kind  is  true  of  the  soul 


204 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


and  her  habitations,  seeing  that  she  is  shown  to  be  immor¬ 
tal,  and  that  it  is  worth  his  while  to  stake  everything  on 
this  belief.  The  venture  is  a  fair  one,  and  he  must  charm 
his  doubts  with  spells  like  these.  That  is  why  I  have 
been  prolonging  the  fable  all  this  time.  For  these  reasons 
a  man  should  be  of  good  cheer  about  bis  soul,  if  in  his  life 
he  has  renounced  the  pleasures  and  adornments  of  the 
body,  because  they  were  nothing  fo  him,  and  e  Tie 

thought  that  they  would  do  him  not  good  md 

if  he  has  instead  earnestly  pursued  the  pleasures  of  learn¬ 
ing,  and  adorned  his  soul  with  the  adornment^  of  tem¬ 
perance,  and  justice,  and  courage,  and  freedom,  and  truth, 
which  belongs  to  her,'  arid  is  her  own,  and  so  awaits  his 
journey  to  the  other  world,  in  readiness  to  set  forth  when¬ 
ever  fate  calls  him.  You,  Simmias  and  Cebes,  and  the 
rest  will  set  forth  at  some  future  day,  each  at  his  own  time. 
But  me  now,  as  a  tragic  poet  would  say,  fate  calls  at  once ; 
and  it  is  time  for  me  to  betake  myself  to  the  bath.  I 
think  that  I  had  better  bathe  before  I  drink  the  poison, 
and  not  give  the  women  the  trouble  of  washing  my  dead 
body. 

When  he  had  finished  speaking  Crito  said,  Be  it  so, 
Socrates.  But  have  you  any  commands  for  your  friends 
or  for  me  about  }'our  children,  or  about  other  things? 
How  shall  we  serve  you  best? 

Simply  by  doing  what  I  always  tell  you,  Crito.  Take 
care  of  vonr  own  selves,  and  .you  will  serve  me  and  mine 
and  yourselves  in  all  that  you  do,  even  though  you jnake 
no  promises  now.  But  if  you  are  careless  of  your  .own 
selves,  and  will  jb of  follow  the  path  of  life  which  we  have 
pointed  out  in  our  discussions  both  to-day'  and  ~a£‘  dfhcT 
times,  all  your  promises  now,  however  profuse  ancTmrne& 
‘they  are,  will  be  of  no  avail. 

We  will  do  our  best,  said  Crito.  But  how  shall  we  bury 
you? 

As  yon  please,  he  answered;  only  3tou  must  catch.  me 
first,  and  not  let  me  escape  you.  And  then  he  looked  at 
us  with  a  smile  and  said,  My  friends,  I  cannot  convince 
Crito  that  I  am  the  Socrates  who  has  been  conversing  with 


PHAEDO. 


205 


you,  and  arranging  his  arguments  in  order.  He  thinks 
that  I  am  the  body  which  ho  will .. .presently „ see, a .corpse^ 
an<The~aslc's"  how  he  is  to  bury  me.  AH  the.,..argum.Qnts_ 
which'  I  have  used  to  prate,  that. I  shall. not.  remain  with 
you  after  I  have  drunk  tbe  poison.  but  that  I  shall  go  away 
to  the'happiness  of  the  blessed,  with  which  I  tried  to  com¬ 
fort  you  and 'myself,  have  been  thrown  away  on  him.  Do 
you  therefore  he  my  sureties  to  him,  as  he  was  my  surety 
at  the  trial,  but  in  a  different  way.  He  was  surety  for 
me  then  that  I  would  remain ;  but  you  must  be  my  sureties 
to  him  that  I  shall  go  away  when  I  am  dead,  and  not  re¬ 
main  with  you:  then  he  will  feel  my  death  less;  and  when 
he  sees  my  body  being  burnt  or  buried,  he  will  not  be 
grieved  because  he  thinks  that  I  am  suffering  dreadful 
things:  and  at  my  funeral  he  will  not  say  that  it  is  Soc- 
crates  whom  he  is  laying  out,  or  bearing  to  the  grave,  or 
burying.  For,  de  rito  he.,  continued,  von  ,  )fnnw 
that  to  use* words  wrongly  is  not  only  a  fault  in  itself;  it 
also'  creates  evil  in  the  soul.  Ton  must  he  of  good  cheer, 
and  say  that  you  are  Burying  my  body:  and  you  must 
bury  it  as  you  please,  and  as  you  think  right. 

With  these  words  he  rose  and  went  into  another  room 
to  bathe  himself:  Crito  went  with  him  and  told  us  to  wait. 
So  we  waited,  talking  of  the  argument,  and  discussing  it, 
and  then  again  dwelling  on  the  greatness  of  the  calamity 
which  had  fallen  upon  us :  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  going 
to  lose  a  father,  and  to  be  orphans  for  the  rest  of  our  life. 
When  he  had  bathed,  and  his  children  had  been  brought 
to  him, — he  had  two  sons  quite  little,  and  one  grown  up, — 
and  the  women  of  his  family  were  come,  he  spoke  with 
them  in  Crito’s  presence,  and  gave  them  his  last  commands ; 
then  he  sent  the  women  and  children  awaj*,  and  re¬ 
turned  to  us.  By  that  time  it  was  near  the  hour  of  sun¬ 
set,  for  he  had  been  a  long  while  within.  When  he  came 
back  to  us  from  the  bath  he  sat  down,  but  not  much  was 
said  after  that.  Presently  the  servant  of  the  Eleven  came 
and  stood  before  him  and  said,  “  I  know  that  I  shall  not 
find  you  unreasonable  like  other  men,  Socrates.  They  are 
angry  with  me  and  curse  me  wfcen  I  bid  them  drink  the 


206 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


poison  because  the  authorities  make  me  do  it.  But  I  have 
found  you  all  along  the  noblest  and  gentlest  and  best  man 
that  has  ever  come  here;  and  now  I  am  sure  that  you  will 
not  be  angry  with  me,  but  with  those  who  you  know  are 
to  blame.  And  so  farewell,  and  try  to  bear  what  must  be 
as  lightly  as  you  can ;  you  know  why  I  have  come.”  With 
that  he  turned  away  weeping,  and  went  out. 

Socrates  looked  up  at  him,  and  replied.  Farewell :  I  will 
do  as  you  say.  Then  he  turned  to  us  and  said,  How  cour¬ 
teous  the  man  is !  And  the  whole  time  that  I  have  been 
here,  be  has  constantly  come  in  to  see  me,  and  sometimes 
he  has  talked  to  me,  and  has  been  the  best  of  men;  and 
now,  bow  generously  he  weeps  for  me !  Come,  Crito,  let 
us  obey  him :  let  the  poison  be  brought  if  it  is  ready ;  and 
if  it  is  not  ready,  let  it  be  prepared. 

Crito  replied:  Nay,  Socrates,  I  think  that  the  sun  is 
still  upon  the  hills;  it  has  not  set.  Besides,  I  know  that 
other  men  lake  the  poison  quite  late,  and  eat  and  drink 
hea i  ilv,  id  ven  enjoy  the  company  of  their  chosen 
friends,  alter  the  announcement  has  been  made.  So  do 
not  hurry ;  there  is  still  time. 

Socrates  replied:  And  those  whom  you  speak  of,  Crito, 
naturally  do  so;  for  they  think  that  they  will  be  gainers 
by  so  doing.  And  I  naturally  shall  not  clo  so;  for  I  think 
that  I  should  gain  nothing  by  drinking  the  poison  a  little 
later,  but  my  own  contempt  for  so  greedily  savin"1  up  a  life 
which  is  already  spent.  So  do  not  refuse  to  do  asTsay. 

Then  Crito  made  a  sign  to  bis  slave  who  was  standing 
by ;  and  the  slave  went  out,  and  after  some  delay  returned 
with  the  man  who  was  to  give  the  poison,  carrying  it  pre¬ 
pared  in  a  cup.  When  Socrates  saw  him,  he  asked,  You 
understand  these  things,  my  good  sir,  what  have  I  to 
do? 

You  have  only  to  drink  this,  he  replied,  and  to  walk 
about  until  your  legs  feel  heavy,  and  then  lie  down ;  and 
it  will  act  of  itself.  With  that  he  handed  the  cup  to 
Socrates,  who  took  it  quite  cheerfully,  Echecrates,  without 
trembling,  and  without  any  change  of  color  or  of  feature, 
and  looked  up  at  the  man  with  that  fixed  glance  of  his,  and 


PHA3D0. 


207 


asked.  What  say  you  to  making  a  libation  from  this 
draught?  May  I,  or  not?  We  only  prepare  so  much  as  we 
think  sufficient,  Socrates,  he  answered.  I  understand,  said 
Socrates.  But  I  suppose  that  I  may,  and  must,  pray  to  the 
gods  that  my  journey  hence  may  be  prosperous:  that  is 
my  prayer;  be  it  so.  With  these  words  he  put  the  cup  to 
his  lips  and  drank  the  poison  quite  calmly  and  cheerfully. 
Till  then  most  of  us  had  been  able  to  control  our  grief 
fairly  well ;  but  when  we  saw  him  drinking,  and  then  the 
poison  finished,  we  could  do  so  no  longer:  my  tears  came 
fast  in  spite  of  myself,  and  I  covered  my  face  and  wept  for 
myself:  it  was  not  for  him,  but  at  my  own  misfortune  in 
losing  such  a  friend.  Even  before  that  Crito  had  been  un¬ 
able  to  restrain  his  tears,  and  had  gone  away;  and  Apollo- 
dorus,  who  had  never  once  ceased  weeping  the  whole  time, 
burst  into  a  loud  cry,  and  made  us  one  and  all  break  down 
by  his  sobbing  and  grief,  except  only  Socrates  himself. 
What  are  you  doing,  my  friends?  he  exclaimed.  I  sent 
away  the  women  chiefly  in  order  that  they  might  not  offend 
in  this  way ;  for  I  have  heard  that  a  man  should  die  in 
silence.  So  calm  yourselves  and  bear  up.  When  we  heard 
that  we  were  asnamed,  and  we  ceased  from  weeping.  But 
he  walked  about,  until  he  said  that  his  legs  were  getting 
heavy,  and  then  he  lay  down  on  his  back,  as  he  was  told. 
And  the  man  who  gave  the  poison  began  to  examine  his 
feet  and  legs,  from  time  to  time :  then  he  pressed  his  foot 
hard,  and  asked  if  there  was  any  feeling  in  it ;  and  Socrates 
said,  No :  and  then  his  legs,  and  so  higher  and  higher,  and 
showed  us  that  he  was  cold  and  stiff.  And  Socrates  felt 
himself,  and  said  that  when  it  came  to  his  heart,  he  should 
be  gone.  He  was  already  growing  cold  about  the  groin, 
when  he  uncovered  his  face,  which  had  been  covered,  and 
spoke  for  the  last  time.  Crito,  he  said,  I  owe  a  cock  to 
Asclepius;  do  not  forget  to  pay  it.1  It  shall  be  done,  re¬ 
plied  Crito.  Is  there  anything  else  that  you  wish?  He 

1  These  words  probably  refer  to  the  offering  usually  made  to 
Asclepius  on  recovery  from  illness.  Death  is  a  release  from  the 
‘  fitful  fever  of  life.’  Another  explanation  is  to  make  the  word, 
refer  to  the  omission  of  a  trifling  religious  duty. 


208 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


made  no  answer  to  this  question ;  but  after  a  short  interval 
there  was  a  movement,  and  the  man  uncovered  him,  and  his 
eyes  were  fixed.  Then  Crito  closed  his  mouth  and  his 
eyes. 

Such  was  the  end,  Echecrates,  of  our  friend,  a  man,  I 
think,  who  was  the  wisest  and  justest,  and  the  best  man 
that  I  have  ever  known. 


PHXLEBUS. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  PHILEBUS, 

ON  THE  GREATEST  GOOD. 


Of  this  rather  long,  and  therefore  difficult  dialogue,  the 
leading  object  may  be  expressed  in  a  very  few  words.  It 
is  to  show,  that  the  greatest  happiness  is  to  be  found,  not, 
as  Aristippus,  in  a  lost  work,  seems  to  have  asserted,  in 
an  unlimited  indulgence  in  the  pleasures  of  the  body,  nor 
even  in  those  of  the  mind,  as  laid  down  by  the  school  of 
Pythagoras,  but  in  the  temperate  enjoyment  of  both,  as 
being  the  best  suited  to  the  mixed  nature  of  man,  made  up 
of  matter  and  of  mind. 

In  allusion  to  a  similar  union  in  a  moral  point  of  view 
of  the  Epicurean  and  Religious  systems  of  living,  Dr. 
Dodd,  when  in  prison,  wrote  the  following  Epigram : 

“  Live  whilst  you  live,”  the  Epicure  would  say, 

“  And  taste  the  pleasures  of  the  passing  day.” 

“  Live  whilst  you  live,”  the  sacred  preacher  cries, 

*'  And  give  to  God  each  moment  as  it  flies.” 

Lord,  in  my  life  let  both  united  he ; 

I  live  to  pleasure,  if  I  live  to  thee. 

The  unfortunate  English  divine  had,  like  the  more  for¬ 
tunate  lyric  poet  and  satirist  of  Rome,  probably  learnt, 
that  however  pleasant  for  a  time  is  the  Epicurean  doctrine, 
“  Carpe  diem,”  yet  it  was  not  the  one  which  could  be  fol¬ 
lowed  through  life,  even  were  the  remark  of  Rochefoucault 
not  founded  on  truth,  that  “  we  do  not  leave  our  vices,  but 
they  leave  us.” 


211 


PHILEBUS. 


PERSONS  OF  THE  DIALOGUE, 

SOCRATES,  PROTARCHUS,  PHILEBUS, 


Soc.  See  then,  Protarchus,  what  is  the  doctrine  which  you 
are  about  to  receive  from  Philebus,  and  against  what  rea¬ 
soning  of  mine  to  contend,  unless  it  has  been  stated  accord¬ 
ing  to  your  mind.  Do  you  wish  me  to  present  each  question 
in  a  summary  way? 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  Philebus  then  asserts,  that  the  (chief)  good  to  all 
animals  is  joy,  and  pleasure,  and  delight,  and  whatever 
else  harmonizes  with  such  kind  of  things.  But  what  I  con¬ 
tend  for  is,  that  it  is  not  those  things,  but  to  be  wise,  and 
to  understand,  and  to  remember,  and  whatever  is  of  a 
kindred  nature,  both  correct  opinion,  and  true  reasonings, 
are  better  and  more  acceptable  than  pleasure  to  all  who 
are  able  to  partake  in  them ;  and  that  to  those  who  are  able 
to  partake,  it  is  of  all  things  the  most  advantageous  (so 
to  partake),  and  not  only  to  those  (already  existing), 
but  to  those  who  are  to  come.  Say  we  not,  Philebus, 
each  of  us  thus? 

Phil.  Most  assuredly,  Socrates. 

Soc  Do  you  then,  Protarchus,  receive  the  view  thus  given 
of  the  questions? 


213 


214 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prof.  I  must  receive  it.  For  Philebus,  the  handsome, 
shrinks  from  speaking. 

Soc.  By  every  means  then  the  trhth  respecting  those 
questions  must  he  arrived  at. 

Prof.  It  must  indeed. 

Soc.  Come  then,  let  us  in  addition  to  these  points  agree 
in  this.  ^ 

Prof.  In  what? 

Soc.  That  each  of  ns  should  endeavor  to  set  forth  some 
habit  and  disposition  of  the  soul,  which  is  able  to  procure 
for  every  man  a  happy  life.  Is  it  not  so? 

Prof.  It  is  so. 

Soc.  You  then  assert  it  is  that  of  rejoicing;  we,  of  think¬ 
ing  rightly. 

Prof.  Such  is  the  fact. 

Soc.  But  what  if  there  should  appear  some  other  (habit) 
superior  to  both  of  these?  Should  we  not,  if  it  appeared 
more  related  to  pleasure,  be  both  of  us  vanquished  by  a 
life,  which  possesses  those  very  things  firmly;  and  a  life 
of  pleasure  would  be  superior  to  one  of  intellect? 

P'-ot.  Yes. 

Soc.  But  if  (that  superior  state  be  more  nearly  allied) 
to  intellect,  a  life  of  intellect  would  be  superior  to  one  of 
pleasure,  and  the  last  would  be  forced  to  yield.  Say  ye 
that  it  is  so  agreed,  or  how  ? 

Prof.  To  me,  at  least,  it  seems. 

Soc.  But  how  seems  it  to  Philebus?  What  say  you? 

Phil.  To  me  it  seems,  and  will  (always)  seem,  that 
pleasure  is  altogether  the  superior.  And  you,  Protarchus, 
will  be  convinced  of  it  yourself. 

Prof.  Having  resigned,  Philebus,  to  myself  the  debate, 
you  can  no  longer  be  the  master  of  what  should  be  yielded 
to  Socrates,  and  the  contrary. 

Phil.  You  say  what  is  true.  But,  however,  I  have  dis¬ 
charged  my  duty;  and  1  here  call  the  goddess  herself  to 
witness  it. 

Prof.  We  too  would  be  witnesses  on  these  very  points, 
that  you  have  said  what  you  arc  saying.  But  now  let  us  en¬ 
deavor,  Socrates,  to  go  through  in  order  what  is  to  follow 


PHILEBUS.  215 

after  this,  whether  with  Philebus  being  willing,  or  how¬ 
ever  he  may  be  willing. 

Soc.  Let  us  endeavor,  (beginning)  from  the  very  god¬ 
dess  herself,  whoni  this  person  says  is  called  Aphrodite, 
but  whose  truest  name  is  Pleasure. 

Prot.  Perfectly  right.  . 

Soc.  The  dread,  which  I  always  feel  as  regards  the  names 
of  the  gods,  is  not  after  the  manner  of  men:  but  is  be¬ 
yond  even  the  greatest  fear.  And  now  I  speak  of  Aphrodite 
by  whatever  name  may  be  agreeable  to  her.  But  how 
various  a  thing  is  pleasure  I  know  well;  and,  as  I  just  now 
said,  we  ought  to  begin  from  it,  by  considering  upon  and 
seeing  into  its  nature.  For  one  may  hear  it  called  simply 
by  one  single  name.  It  has  assumed  however  all  sorts  of 
forms,  and  even  such  as  are  in  a  certain  manner  unlike 
to  one  another.  For,  observe,  we  say  that  the  intemperate 
man  has  pleasure;  and  the  temperate  man  has  pleasure 
likewise  [in  being  temperate].  Again,  we  say  that  the 
thoughtless  man  is  pleased  in  being  full  of  silly  opinions 
and  hopes ;  and  that  on  the  other  hand,  the  thoughtful  man 
is  pleased  with  his  thinking  wisely.  How,  how  could  any 
one,  who  asserts  that  each  of  these  pleasures  are  like  to 
each  other,  not  justly  appear  to  be  silly? 

Prot.  These  pleasures,  Socrates,  are  indeed  from  con¬ 
trary  acts;  but  not  in  themselves  contrary  to  each  other. 
I  or  how  could  pleasure  not  be  of  all  things  the  most  similar 
to  pleasure,  this  thing  itself  to  itself? 

Soc.  Color,  too,  thou  happy  fellow,  differs  not  from 
color,  at  least  in  this  respect,  that  it  is  universally  color. 
And  yet  we  all  know  that  black,  besides  being  different 
from  white,  happens  to  be  also  the  most  opposite  to  it.  So, 
too,  figure  is  taken  singly  the  same  with  figure,  in  the 
general;  but  as  to  its  parts,  some  are  the  most  opposite 
to  others,  and  some  happen  to  possess  an  infinite  diversity. 
And  many  other  things  we  shall  find  to  be  thus  circum¬ 
stanced ;  so  that  do  not  you  trust  to  the  reasoning,  that 
makes  things  the  most  opposite  to  be  one?  And  I  fear 
toat  we  shall  find  some  pleasures  to  be  quite  opposite  to 
others.  1 


216 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  Perhaps  so.  But  how  will  that  injure  my  argu¬ 
ment  ? 

Soc.  Because,  we  will  say,  you  call  things,  dissimilar  in 
themselves,  by  another  name.  For  you  call  all  pleasant 
things  good.  Now  that  pleasant  things  are  not  pleasant, 
no  one  disputes.  But  though  the  most  of  them  are  evil, 
and  (some)  good,  as  we  assert,  yet  all  of  them  you  call 
good,  although  confessing  them  to  be  dissimilar,  when  one 
compels  you  by  reasoning  (to  do  so).  By  what  name 
then  do  you  call  that,  which,  existing  in  evil  pleasures 
equally  with  good,  (causes)  all  to  be  a  good? 

Prot.  How  say  you,  Socrates?  Think  you  that  any 
person,  after  having  laid  down  that  pleasure  is  the  good, 
will  agree  with  you?  or  will  hear  with  you,  while  asserting 
that  some  pleasures  are  good,  but 'others  evil? 

Soc.  But  you  will  at  least  acknowledge  that  pleasures 
are  unlike  to  one  another,  and  some  even  opposite  to 
others  ? 

Prot.  By  no  means,  as  far  as  they  are  pleasures. 

Soc.  "We  are  now  brought  back  again  to  the  same  position, 
Protarchus.  We  will  say  then  that  a  pleasure  does  not 
differ  from  a  pleasure,  but  that  all  are  alike;  and  the  in¬ 
stances,  just  now  produced,  inflict  no  wound  upon  us.  But 
we  will  make  an  endeavor,  and  say,  what  the  meanest  of 
speakers  and  mere  novices  in  argument  do. 

Prot.  What  do  you  mean? 

Soc.  (I  mean,)  that  if  by  imitating  you,  and  defending 
myself.  I  should  dare  to  assert  that  the  thing  the  most  un¬ 
like  is  of  all  things  the  most  like  to  the  most  unlike,  I 
should  say  the  same  as  you  do ;  and  both  of  us  would  appear 
to  be  more  of  novices  than  is  fitting;  and  the  subject  of 
dispute  would  thus  slip  away  and  fall  to  the  ground.  Let 
us  therefore  back  water;  and  perhaps  by  returning  to 
similitudes,  we  may  come  to  an  agreement  with  each  other. 

Prot.  Say  how. 

Soc.  Suppose  me  to  be  questioned  by  yourself,  Protar¬ 
chus. 

Prot.  Concerning  what? 

Soc.  Will  not  intelligence,  and  science,  and  mind,  and 


PHILEBUS. 


217 


all  that  I  laid  down  at  the  commencement,  and  spoke' of  as 
being  good,  when  X  was  asked  what  sort  of  thing  was  a  good, 
be  under  the  very  same  circumstances  as  is  your  argument  ? 

Prot.  How  so? 

Soc.  The  sciences,  taken  together,  will  seem  to  be  both 
many,"  and  some  of  them  dissimilar  to  each  other.  Now 
if  some  are  opposite  also,  should  I  be  worthy  of  bolding  a 
conversation  with  you,  if,  fearful  of  admitting  this  very 
point,  I  should  assert  that  no  science  was  unlike  (another) 
science ?  For  then  the  very  question  would  be,  as  if  it 
were  a  mere  tale,  destroyed,  and  vanished,  and  we  be  saved 
upon  some  absurdity. 

Prot.  But  this  ought  not  to  happen,  except  so  tar  as 
the  being  saved.  And  now  with  the  equality  in  your 
assertion  ancl  mine  I  am  well  pleased.  Let  then  pleasures 
be  many  and  dissimilar;  and  let  the  sciences  likewise  be 
many  and  different. 

Soc.  The  difference  then  between  your  good,  Protarchus, 
and  mine,  let  us  not  conceal ;  but,  placing  them  between 
us,  let  us  venture  (to  discuss),  if  '(reasons)  on  being  ex¬ 
amined  will  indicate  (any  thing),  whether  we  ought  to 
pronounce  pleasure  or  intellect  the  chief  good,  or  whether 
there  is  any  other  third  thing.  For  we  surely  do, not  now 
desire  to  enter  into  a  contest,  in  order  that  what  I  lay 
down,  or  what  you  do,  may  gain  the  victory ;  but  we  ought 
both  of  us  to  unite  in  fighting  for  what  is  the  most  true. 

Prot.  We  ought  to  do  so. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  fix  still  more  firmly  this  point  by  means 
of  a  mutual  agreement. 

Prot.  WhU;  point? 

Soc.  That,  which  gives  trouble  to  all  persons  who  are 
willing,  and  sometimes  to  some  who  are  unwilling. 

Prot.  Speak  more  clearly. 

Soc.  X  am  speaking  of  that,  which  has  just  now  fallen  by 
our  side,  of  a  nature  somehow  full  of  wonders.  For  that 
many  are  one,  and  one  many,  is  a  thing  wonderful  to  be 
asserted ;  and  it  is  easy  to  controvert  a  person  laying  down 
either  of  these  points. 

Prot.  Do  you  mean,  that  when  any  one  says  that  X, 


218 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Protarchus,  being  by  nature  one,  am  again  many,  lay¬ 
ing  down  that  the  one,  and  persons  opposite  to  each  other, 
great  and  little,  and  heavy  and  light,  are  the  same,  and  a 
thousand  other  things? 

Soc.  The  wonders,  Protarchus,  which,  you  have  now 
spoken  of,  relating  to  the  one  and  many,  have  become 
vulgarized;  but  by  the  common  agreement,  so  to  say,  of  all 
men,  it  is  laid  down  that  it  is  needless  to  touch  upon  such 
things;  since  they  consider  them  to  be  childish  and  easy 
(to  be  seen  through),  and  great  impediments  to  rational 
discourses;  since  not  even  such  things  (any  one  ought  to 
say),  when,  after  having  in  a  discourse  divided  the  mem¬ 
bers  and  parts  of  each  thing,  he  shall  confute  the  party, 
who  has  confessed  that  all  these  are  that  one,  and  ridicule 
him,  because  he  has  been  compelled  to  make  such  mon¬ 
strous  assertions,  as  that  a  single  one  is  many  and  infinite, 
and  many  only  one. 

Prot.  Of  what  other  things  are  yon  speaking,  Socra¬ 
tes,  which  have  not,  as  being  universally  agreed  upon,  be¬ 
come  vulgarized,  relating  to  the  very  same  subject  ? 

Soc.  When,  young  man,  a  person  lays  down  that  the  one 
does  not  belong  to  things  generated  and  destroyed,  as  we 
have  lately  said.  For  in  that  case,  as  we  just  now  stated, 
it  has  been  agreed  that  we  need  not  confute  a  oneness  of 
such  a  kind.  But  when  a  person  attempts  to  lay  down  a 
oneness,  as  in  the  case  of  one  man,  and  one  ox,  one 
beauty,  one  goodness,  respecting  these  and  such-like  one¬ 
nesses,  much  of  attention,  together  with  a  division,  becomes 
a  controversy. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  In  the  first  place,  whether  a  person  ought  to  con¬ 
sider  such  onenesses  as  truly  existing.  In  the  next  place, 
how  it  is  that  these,  every  one  of  them  being  always  the 
same,  and  never  receiving  generation  or  destruction,  are, 
notwithstanding,  with  the  greatest  stability  this  one.  And 
after  this,  we  must  lay  down  whether  (oneness)  is  dis¬ 
persed  amongst  things  generated  again  and  infinite,  as 
having  become  many,  or  is  a  whole  itself,  from  itself  apart, 
which  would  appear  the  most  impossible  of  all,  for  the 


PHILEBUS. 


219 


same  and  one  to  exist  in  one  and  in  many  at  the  same  time. 
These  are  the  questions  relating  to  such  things  as  the  one 
and  many,  and  not  those,  Protarehus,  (mentioned  D) 
vou  )  are,  through  their  being  not  well  agreed  upon,  the 
cause  of  all  difficulty  in  our  path ;  but,  by  being  properly 
(agreed  upon),  they  would  on  the  other  hand  be  (the 

cause)  of  our  easy  progress. 

Prot.  It  is  necessary,  then,  for  us  to  labor  at  this  point 


the  first. 

Soc.  So  at  least  I  should  say. 

Prot .  Understand  then  that  all  of  us  agree  with  you  on 
these  points ;  and  it  is  best,  perhaps,  not  to  stir  up  just  now 
by  interrogations  Philebus,  who  is  well  put  to  rest.  . 

Soc.  Be  it  so;  but  from  whence  shall  one  begin,  the 
battle-field  for  controversy  being  so  wide  and  various ? 
Shall  it  be  from  hence? 

Prot.  From  whence? 

Soc  We  surely  assert,  that  one  and  many,  being  made  by 
reasonings  the  same,  run  round  everywhere  according  to 
each  of  the  things  made  the  subject  of  reasoning  always 
and  formerly  and  now;  and  this  shall  never  have  an  end 
nor  has  it  ever  had  a  beginning  at  the  present  time.  But 
there  is,  as  it  appears  to  me,  some  such  feeling  m  us 
relating  to  reasonings  themselves,  of  an  immortal  and 
ageless'  kind.  For  when  a  youth  has  first  tasted  it,  he  is 
delighted,  as  having  found  a  treasure  of  wisdom,  and 
being  transported  with  delight,  he  tosses  about  every 
reasoning;  and  at  one  time  he  rolls  it  (from  tins  side  to 
that,  and  mixes  (all  of  it)  into  one;  at  another  unrolling 
it  back  again,  and  separating  it  into  parts,  lie  throws 
himself  first  and  foremost  into  a  difficulty,  and  next  the 
person  ever  nearest  at  hand,  whether  he  happens  to  be 
younger,  or  older,  or  equal  in  age,  sparing  neither  father 
nor  mother,  nor  any  one  else,  who  will  listen,  and  scarcely 
the  rest  of  animals,  not  men  alone;  since  he  womd  spare 
not  even  one  of  the  barbarians,  could  he  but  find  some 

where  an  interpreter.  ,  ,  , 

Prot.  Do  you  not,  Socrates,  see  the  great  number  cd  ns, 

and  that  we  are  all  young  ?  And  are  you  not  afraid  that, 


220 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


if  you  rail  at  us,  we  shall,  with  Pliilebus,  fall  upon  you  all 
together  ?  However,  for  we  understand  what  you  mean,  if 
there  is  any  method  or  contrivance  for  this  confusion  to 
depart  from  us,  somehow  with  a  good  will,  out  of  the  way 
of  our  reasoning,  and  for  discovering  a  road  to  reasoning 
better  than  this,  do  direct  your  thoughts  to  it,  and  we  will 
to  the  best  of  our  power  follow.  For  the  present  debate, 
Socrates,  is  not  a  little  matter. 

Soc.  Indeed  it  is  not,  boys,  as  Pliilebus  calls  you.  There 
is  and  can  be  no  better  way  (than  that)  of  which  I  am 
ever  a  lover;  but  often  before  now  has  it  fled  away,  and 
left  me  deserted  and  at  a  loss. 

Prot.  What  is  it  ?  Let  it  only  be  mentioned. 

Soc.  That,  which  to  point  out  is  not  very  difficult,  but 
to  make  use  of  is  very  difficult.  For  all  the  things  that, 
connected  with  art,  have  been  ever  discovered,  have  become 
manifest  through  it.  Consider  then  the  way  which  I  am 
speaking  of. 

Prot.  Only  tell  it. 

Soc.  A  gift,  as  it  appears  to  me,  from  gods  to  men,  was, 
through  a  certain  Prometheus,  cast  down  from  some  quarter 
by  the  gods  along  with  a  certain  fire  the  most  luminous; 
and  the  men  of  old,  being  better  than  us,  and  dwelling 
nearer  to  the  gods,  have  handed  down  this  story,  that,  since 
the  beings,  said  to  be  forever,  are  produced  from  one  and 
many,  and  have  in  themselves  bound  and  the  boundless 
born  with  them,  we  must  therefore,  since  things  have  been 
so  arranged,  ever  lay  down  the  existence  of  some  one  idea 
respecting  everything,  and  on  every  occasion  seek  for  it ; 
for  being  there,  we  shall  find  it;  and  if  we  lay  hold  of  it, 
we  must  after  one  look  for  two,  if  two  there  are;  hut  if 
not,  three,  or  some  other  number;  and  again,  in  like 
manner  each  of  those  that  are  one ;  until  at  length  a  person 
perceives  that  the  one  at  the  beginning  is  not  only  one, 
and  many,  and  infinite,  but  also  how  many  it  is:  but  that 
a  man  should  never  bring  the  idea  of  infinity  to  multitude, 
before  he  shall  have  fully  seen  all  its  number,  which  lies 
between  the  infinite  and  the  one;  and  then  having  dis¬ 
missed  each  one  of  the  all  into  infinity,  we  must  bid  them 


PH1LEBUS. 


m 


farewell.  The  gods  then,  as  I  said,  have  granted  us  to 
consider  things  in  this  way,  and  to  learn  them,  and  teach 
them  to  each  other.  But  the  wise  men  of  the  present  time 
introduce,  as  it  may  happen,  one,  and  many,  more  quickly 
and  slowly  than  is  fitting,  and  immediately  after  the  one, 
infinity,  but  (all)  the  intermediate  escape  them;  by  which 
are  kept,  apart  the  methods  of  our  carrying  on  with  each 
other  disputations  in  a  logical  and  contentious  manner. 

Prot.  A  part,  Socrates,  I  seem  somehow  to  understand; 
but  of  the  other  part  I  beg  I  may  hear  more  clearly  what 
you  mean. 

Soc.  What  I  mean,  Protarehus,  will  be  evident  in  the 
case  of  letters ;  and  in  these,  through  which  you  have  been 
taught,  accept  my  meaning. 

Prot-  How? 

Soc.  The  voice,  that  issues  through  the  mouth,  is  surely 
one,  and  on  the  other  hand  infinite,  not  only  in  that  o  all, 
but  of  each, 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Now  we  are  skilled  (in  voice)  by  neither  of  these 
considerations,  whether  we  know'  that  it  is  infinite  or  one , 
but  (to  know)  how  many  and  of  what  kind  are  (its  parts), 
this  it  is  which  produces  in  each  of  us  the  grammar-art. 

Prot.  Most  true. 

Soc.  And  further,  that  which  produces  the  music-art, 
is  the  very  same  thing. 

Prot.  How  so? 

Soc.  (Musical)  sound,  and  the  thing  according  to  that 
art  is  one  in  it. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  And  let  us  suppose  two  kinds',  the  grave  and  the 
acute,  and  a  third,  the  homotonous ;  or  how  ? 

Prot.  In  this  way. 

Soc.  But  by  knowing  these  facts  alone  you  would  not  be 
skilled  in  music ;  although  by  not  knowing  you  would  be, 
on  these  points,  worth,  so  to  say,  nothing. 

Prot.  Yes,  nothing. 

Soc.  But,  my  friend,  when  you  shall  have  (correctly) 
comprehended  the  intervals  of  sounds,  with  respect  to  their 


222 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


being  acute  and  grave,  hovr  many  they  are  in  number,  and 
of  what  kinds,  and  the  limits  of  the  intervals,  and  how 
many  combinations  are  produced  from  thefn,  which  our 
predecessors  have  remarked  and  handed  down  to  us,  who 
come  after  them,  by  the  name  of  harmonies,  and  such  other 
circumstances  as  are  in,  (and)  produced  by,  the  motions  of 
the  body,  (and  in  words,)  which  being  measured  by 
numbers,  they  say  again  we  ought  to  call  them  rhythms 
and  metres,  and  at  the  same  time  to  consider  that  we  ought 
to  thus  look  into  everything  that  is  one  and  many — 
when  (I  say)  you  shall  have  comprehended  all  these  things, 
in  this  manner,  then  will  you  have  become  skilled;  and 
when  by  considering  in  this  way  any  other  kind  whatsoever 
of  being,  you  shall  have  comprehended  it,  you  will  have 
thus  become  intelligent  respecting  it.  But  the  infinite 
multitude  of,  and  in,  individuals  causes  you  to  be  infinitely 
far  off  from  thinking  correctly,  and  to  be  of  no  account  or 
number,  as  you  never  look  to  any  number  in  anything  what¬ 
ever. 

Trot.  Most  beautifully,  Philebus,  does  Socrates  appear 
to  me  to  have  spoken  in  what  he  has  now  said. 

Phil.  And  to  me  likewise  the  very  same  thing  (appears). 
But  how  has  this  speech  been  spoken  as  regards  us,  and 
what  does  it  mean  ? 

Soc.  Correctly  indeed,  Protarchus,  has  Philebus  pro¬ 
posed  this  question. 

Trot.  Very  much  so ;  and  do  you  give  an  answer. 

Soc.  This  I  will  do,  after  I  have  gone  through  yet  a 
little  (more)  respecting  these  very  points.  For,  as  we  said, 
that  should  a  person  lay  hold  of  any  one  thing  whatever,  he 
ought  not  to  look  at  once  upon  the  nature  of  the  infinite, 
but  upon  some  number ;  so,  on  the  other  hand,  when  a  man 
is  compelled  to  lay  hold  of  the  infinite,  he  ought  not  (to 
look)  at  once  upon  the  one,  but  to  a  certain  number,  pos¬ 
sessing  some  multihide  of  individual  things,  (and)  to  think 
upon  it ;  and  to  end  from  all  in  one.  Let  us  then  again 
lay  hold  of  what  I  have  now  said,  in  the  case  of  letters. 

Trot.  How? 

Soc.  From  the  time  when  some  god,  or  godlike  man,  as 


PHILEBUS. 


223 


the  story  in  Egypt  goes,  by  saying  it  was  some  Theuth, 
first  thought  upon  sound  as  being  without  limit,  the  per¬ 
son  has  been  mentioned  in  history,  who  perceived  that  in 
the  limitless  there  were  vocal  (letters),  not  one  but  more; 
and  again,  other  (letters)  not  having  a  part  of  the  voice, 
but  of  some  kind  of  sound;  and  that  of  these  also  there 
was  a  certain  number.  A  third  kind  of  letters  he  set 
apart;  those  which  are  now  called  mutes  by  us.  After  this 
he  separated  both  the  letters  which  are  without  any  vocal 
sound,  clear  or  not  clear,  as  far  as  each  one,  and  the  vowels 
also  and  those  in  the  middle  in  the  same  manner,  until 
having  comprehended  their  number,  he  gave  to  each  one, 
and  to  all  together,  the  name  of  an  element.  But  per¬ 
ceiving  that  none  of  us  could  understand  any  of  them  by 
itself  alone,  without  (learning)  them  all,  he  considered  this 
bond  between  them  as  being  one,  and  as  making  all  these  in 
a  manner  but  one  thing ;  and  to  them  he  applied  the  name 
of  the  grammar-art,  calling  it  so  as  being  one. 

Phil.  These,  taken  by  themselves  and  in  relation  to  each 
other,  Protarehus,  I  understand  more  clearly  than  what 
was  said  before.  But  there  is  still  at  present  wanting,  as 
before,  the  very  same  trifling  part  of  the  discourse. 

Soc.  Is*'it  not  this,  Philebus  ?  what  have  these  matters  to 
do  with  the  subject  ? 

Phil.  Yes.  This  is  the  very  thing  which  I  and  Pro- 
tarchus  are  for  a  long  while  in  search  of. 

Soc.  You  are  then  for  a  long  while,  as  you  sajq  in  search, 
when  you  have  just  now  arrived  at  it. 

Phil.  How  so  ? 

Soc.  Was  not  the  question  originally  between  us  relating 
to  intellect  or  pleasure,  which  was  the  more  eligible  ? 

Phil.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  We  admit,  however,  that  each  of  them  is  one 
thing? 

Phil.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  This  then  does  the  previous  subject  demand  of  us ; 
how  is  each  of  them  one  and  many  ?  and  how  is  it  that  they 
are.  not  at  once  infinite ;  but  that  each  possesses  somehow  a 
certain  number  before  it  becomes  infinite? 


224 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  Into  no  trivial  a  question,  Philebus,  has  Socrates 
thrown  us,  after  having  led  us,  1  know  not  bow,  a  round¬ 
about  road.  And  now  consider,  which  of  us  two  shall  reply 
to  the  question  proposed.  Perhaps,  however,  it  would  be 
ridiculous  in  me,  who  have  stood  as  a  reinforcement  to 
your  argument,  to  order  you  again  to  this  business,  through 
my  being  unable  to  reply  to  the  present  question;  but  I 
think  it  would  be  much  more  ridiculous  for  neither  of  us 
to  be  able.  Consider,  then,  what  we  are  to  do.  For  Soc¬ 
rates  seems  to  interrogate  us  respecting  the  (different) 
kinds  of  pleasure,  whether  they  do  or  do  not  exist ;  and  how 
many  and  of  what  kind  they  are ;  and  in  like  manner  and 
touching  the  same  points  as  regards  intellect. 

Soa.  You  speak,  son  of  Callias,  most  truly.  For  since 
we  are  unable  to  do  this,  as  regards  everything,  as  being 
one,  similar,  and  same,  and  the  contrary,  as  the  past  reason¬ 
ing  has  pointed  out,  not  one  of  us  would  in  any  matter 
ever  be  worth  anything  at  all. 

Prot.  Such,  Socrates,  very  nearly  seems  to  be  the  case. 
But  though  it  is  a  fine  thing  for  a  prudent  person  to  know 
all  things,  yet  it  seems  to  be  a  second  step  for  a  person  not 
to  be  ignorant  of  himself.  Why  then  have  I  now  said 
this?  I  will  tell  you.  This  conversation,  Socrates,  you 
have  granted  to  us  all,  and  have  given  yourself  up  to  us,  for 
the  purpose  of  deciding  what  is  the  greatest  good  to  man. 
For.  after  Philebus  bad  said,  that  it  is  pleasure,  and  de¬ 
light,  and  joy,  and  all  things  of  the  like  nature,  you  said 
in  opposition  to  this,  that  it  was  not  these  things,  but  those 
which  we  often  willingly  call  to  our  recollection;  and  we 
are  right  in  so  doing,  in  order  that  each  question,  being 
laid  up  in  our  memory,  may  be  put  to  the  test.  You 
assert  then,  it  seems,  that,  what  is  to  be  spoken  of  correctly, 
there  is  a  good,  superior  to  pleasure,  in  mind,  science, 
intelligence,  art,  and  all  things  allied  to  them,  which  one 
ought  to  possess,  and  not  the  others.  Now  these  positions 
being  laid  down  severally  on  each  side,  as  the  subjects  of 
dispute,  we  in  a  jocose  way  threatened,  that  we  would  not 
suffer  you  to  go  home,  before,  of  the  questions  so  defined, 
a  sufficient  limit  had  been  reached.  To  this  you  assented. 


PHILEBUS. 


225 


and  to  these  points  you  gave  yourself  up  to  us.  We  assert 
then,  as  children  say,  that  of  what  has  been  given  fairly, 
there  is  no  taking  away.  Forbear  then  to  meet  us  on  what 
has  been  now  said  in  this  manner. 

Soc.  In  what  manner? 

Trot.  By  throwing  us  into  a  difficulty,  and  propound¬ 
ing  questions,  to  which  we  should  not  be  able  on  the  instant 
to  give  a  sufficient  answer.  For  let  us  not  fancy  that  the 
present  difficulty  of  us  all  is  a  finish  (to  the  inquiry) ;  but 
if  we  are  unable  to  do  this,  you  must  do  it,  for  so  you  prom¬ 
ised.  Wherefore  advise  yourself,  whether  you  must  dis¬ 
tinguish  the  kinds  of  pleasure,  as  of  knowledge;  or  leave 
them  alone,  if  perchance  you  are  able  and  willing  by  some 
other  method  to  render  plain  somehow  else  the  question 
now  in  dispute  between  us. 

Soc.  Nothing  dreadful  then  need  I  fear  any  longer  for 
myself,  since  you  have  said  this.  For  the  expression,  “  if 
you  are  willing,”  relieves  me  from  all  fear  respecting  each 
thing.  But,  in  addition  to  this,  there  seems  some  god,  I 
think,  to  have  given  me  a  recollection  of  some  things. 

Prot.  How,  and  of  what  things  ? 

Soc.  Having  formerly  heard,  either  in  a  dream  or  broad 
awake,  certain  sayings  respecting  pleasure  and  intellect,  I 
have  them  now  again  present  to  my  mind,  that  neither 
of  them  is  of  itself  the  good,  but  some  other  third  thing, 
different  from  them,  and  better  than  both.  Now  if  this 
should  appear  to  us  clearly,  pleasure  is  then  removed  from 
victory.  For  the  good  would  no  longer  be  the  same  with 
it;  or  how  (say  you)  ? 

Prot.  Just  so. 

Soc.  We  shall  have  no  need  then,  in  my  opinion,  to 
distinguish  the  kinds  of  pleasure.  And  the  thing  itself, 
as  it  progresses,  will  show  itself  more  clearly. 

Prot.  Having  begun  so  happily,  proceed  (with  the  same 
success). 

Soc.  Let  us  previously  agree  still  upon  a  few  little 
points. 

Prot.  What  are  those? 

15 


226 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  Is  it  necessary  for  the  condition  of  the  good  to  be 
perfect  or  not  perfect  ? 

Prot.  The  most  perfect,  Socrates,  of  all  things. 

Soc.  What  then?  Is  the  good  self-sufficient? 

Prot.  IIow  not?  and  in  this  respect  it  excels  all  other 
things  existing. 

Soc.  And  this  too,  I  think,  it  is  of  all  things  the  most 
necessary  to  state  about  it,  that  every  being  that  knows  of 
it  hunts  after  it,  and  desires  to  catch  it,  and  to  have  it 
about  itself,  and  cares  for  nothing  else  except  such  as  are 
brought  to  perfection  in  conjunction  with  good  things. 

Prot.  There  is  no  gainsaying  this. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  consider  and  judge  of  the  life  of  pleas¬ 
ure,  and  that  of  intellect,  viewing  them  separately. 

Prot.  How  say  you  ? 

Soc..  In  the  life  of  pleasure,  let  there  be  no  intellect; 
nor  in  that  of  intellect,  pleasure.  For,  if  either  of  them 
be  the  good,  it  need  not  want  anything  additional  from 
any  other  quarter.  But,  if  either  of  them  appears  to  be 
indigent  of  aught,  this  can  no  longer  be  the  good. 

Prot.  For  how  could  it? 

Soc.  Let  us  then  endeavor  with  you  to  try  them  by  a 
touchstone. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  Answer,  then. 

Prot.  Say  on. 

Soc.  Would  you,  Protarehus,  accept  the  offer  to  live 
through  the  whole  of  life  enjoying  pleasures  the  most  ex¬ 
quisite  ? 

Prot.  Why  not? 

Soc.  If  you  possessed  this  completely,  would  you  not 
think  that  you  still  wanted  something  else? 

Prot.  Not  at  all. 

Soc.  See  now,  is  it  not  for  the  things  that  are  wanting 
in  thought,  and  mind,  and  reasoning  powers,  and  whatever 
are  the  sisters  of  these,  to  see  not  even  something? 

Prot.  And  why  ?  for  I  should  in  a  manner  possess  all 
things,  in  possessing  joy. 


PHILEBUS.  227 

Soc.  Living  thus  continually  through  life,  would  you  not 
feel  a  joy  in  the  most  exquisite  pleasures  ? 

Prot.  Why  not  ? 

Soc.  Possessing  neither  mind,  nor  memory,  nor  science, 
nor  a  true  opinion,  it  is  surely  necessary  for  you,  in  the 
first  place,  to  be  ignorant,  whether  you  had  any  joy,  or  not, 
being  void  of  all  intellect. 

Prot.  It  is  necessary. 

Soc.  Being  moreover  in  a  similar  manner  not  in  pos¬ 
session  of  memory,  there  is  surely  a  necessity  for  you  not 
even  to  remember  that  you  ever  had  any  joy,  or  for  not  even 
the  least  memorial  to  remain  of  a  joy  coming  upon  you 
on  the  instant;  and  not  possessing  a  true  opinion,  (a 
necessity)  for  you  to  think  that,  when  you  are  feeling  a 
joy,  you  do  not  feel  it;  and  deprived  of  the  reasoning 
power,  to  be  not  even  able  to  calculate  that  you  shall  feel  a 
joy  in  a  time  to  come;  and  thus  you  would  live  the  life, 
not  of  a  man,  but  of  an  animal  called  lungs,  or  of  such 
marine  substances  as  are  endued  with  life,  together  with  an 
oyster-like  body.  Are  these  things  so?  or  can  we  think 
otherwise  concerning  them  ? 

Prot.  And  how  ? 

Soc.  Would,  then,  such  a  life  be  eligible  ? 

Prot.  This  reasoning,  Socrates,  has  imposed  upon  me 
silence  altogether  for  the  present. 

Soc.  Let  us  not  become  cowards,  but  changing  (the 
view),  look  upon  the  life  of  intellect. 

Prot.  What  kind  of  life  do  you  mean? 

Soc.  Whether  any  of  us  would  choose  to  live,  possessing 
intellect,  and  mind,  and  science,  and  a  perfect  memory  of 
all  things,  but  partaking  of  pleasure,  neither  much  nor 
little;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  of  pain;  but  being  wholly 
exempt  from  all  things  of  such  kind. 

Prot.  To  me,  Socrates,  neither  life  is  eligible ;  nor  would 
it,  I  think,  ever  appear  so  to  any  other  person. 

Soc.  What  (seems)  to  you,  Protarchus,  a  life  mixed  up 
with,  and  common  to,  both  together  ? 

Prot.  Do  you  mean  of  pleasure,  and  of  mind  and  in¬ 
tellect  £ 


228 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  In  this  wuj  ;  and  of  such  a  life  am  I  speaking. 

Prot.  Every  person  would  certainly  prefer  such  a  kind 
of  life  to  either  of  those,  and,  moreover,  not  one  this,  and 
another  that. 

Soc.  Perceive  we  now  what  is  the  result  of  our  previous 
reasoning? 

Prot.  Perfectly  well ;  that  three  lives  have  been  placed 
before  us,  and  that  of  the  two,  neither  one  is  self-sufficient 
or  eligible  for  any  one  man,  or  animal. 

Soc.  It  is  not  evident  then  with  regard  to  these,  that 
neither  of  them  possess  the  good  ?  for  (otherwise)  it 
would  have  been  all-sufficient,  and  perfect,  and  eligible  for 
all  plants  and  animals,  that  are  capable  of  living  ever  thus 
through  life.  But  if  any  one  should  prefer  other  things, 
than  what  we  do,  he  would  take  it  contrary  to  the  nature  of 
the  truly  eligible,  not  willingly,  but  through  ignorance,  or 
from  some  unhappy  necessity. 

Prot.  Such  seems  to  be  the  case. 

Soc.  That  we  ought  not  therefore  to  consider  that  god¬ 
dess  of  Philebus  and  the  good  to  be  the  same,  seems  to  have 
been  stated  sufficiently. 

Phil.  Heither,  Socrates,  is  that  intellect  of  yours  the 
good;  but  it  will  somehow  have  the  same  charge  made 
against  it. 

Soc.  Mine  perhaps,  Philebus,  may;  but  not,  I  think, 
that  intellect  which  is  at  the  same  time  both  divine  and 
true ;  but  it  will  be  somehow  in  a  different  state.  However, 
I  do  not  contend  for  the  prize  of  victory,  in  behalf  (of  the 
life)  of  intellect,  against  the  common  one.  But  what  we 
are  to  do  with  the  second  prize,  it  is  meet  to  see  and  to  con¬ 
sider.  For  the  cause  (of  the  happiness  of)  the  common 
life,  we  each  assign  to  be,  one  of  us,  intellect,  the  other, 
pleasure.  And  thus  neither  of  these  two  would  be  the 
good.  And  yet  a  person  might  suppose  one  or  other  of 
them  to  be  the  cause.  Now  on  this  point  I  would  still 
more  earnestly  contend  against  Philebus,  that  in  this 
mixed  life,  whatever  is  the  thing,  by  possessing  which  that 
life  becomes  eligible  and  good,  it  is  not  pleasure,  but  in¬ 
tellect,  which  is  more  allied  and  similar  to  it.  And  ac- 


PHILEBUS. 


229 


cording  to  this  reasoning  it  could  not  be  truly  said  that 
pleasure  has  any  share  in  the  first,  nor  even  the  second 
prize;  and  it  is  still  further  from  the  third  prize,  if  any 
credit  may  be  given  for  the  present  to  that  intellect  of 
mine. 

Prof.  It  seems  to  me  in  good  truth,  Socrates,  that  pleas¬ 
ure  has  fallen  (to  the  ground),  struck  down,  as  it  were, 
by  your  present  reasoning ;  fqr  after  fighting  for  the  prize, 
it  lies  there  (vanquished).  But  of  mind,  it  seems,  it  must 
be  said,  that  it  has  prudently  laid  no  claim  for  the  prize; 
for  it  would  otherwise  have  suffered  the  same  fate.  But 
pleasure,  should  it  lose  also  the  second  prize,  would  meet 
altogether  with  some  dishonor  from  her  lovers :  for 
not  even  to  them  would  she  appear  any  longer  to  be  beau¬ 
tiful. 

Soc.  Why  then  is  it  not  better  to  dismiss  her  directly, 
and  not  to  pain  her,  by  bringing  to  her  the  most  accurate 
touchstone,  and  convicting  her? 

Prof.  You  are  saying  nothing,  Socrates,  to  the  purpose. 

Soc.  Is  it  because  I  spoke,  what  is  impossible,  of  giving 
pain  to  pleasure  ? 

Prof.  Not  on  that  account  only,  but  because  you  are 
ignorant  that  none  of  us  will  dismiss  you,  before  you  have 
come  to  the  end  of  these  disputes  by  reasoning. 

Soc.  Ho !  ho !  Protarchus ;  for  though  the  remaining 
discourse  is  plentiful,  yet  scarcely  is  any  part  of  it  very 
easy  now.  For  it  seems  that  he,  who  marches  out  in 
defense  of  mind,  has  need  of  another  stratagem,  and  must 
have,  as  it  were,  arrows  different  from  those  of  former 
reasoning;  perhaps,'  however,  some  are  the  same.  Is  not 
this  requisite? 

Prof.  How  not? 

Soc.  Let  us  then  endeavor,  when  laying  down  the  prin¬ 
ciple,  to  act  with  caution. 

Prof.  Of  what  principle  are  you  speaking? 

Soc.  All  things  existing  in  the  universe  let  us  divide 
into  two,  or  rather,  if  you  please,  into  three  parts. 

Prof.  You  should  state,  why  so. 

Soc.  Let  us  take  some  of  the  subjects  already  mentioned. 


230 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  What? 

Soc.  We  said  somehow  that  of  things  existing,  the  deity 
has  exhibited  the  limitless,  and  also  the  limit. 

Prot.  Very  true. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  take  these  two  of  the  species  (of 
things),  and  for  a  third,  some  one  composed  of  those  two 
mixed  together.  But  I  am,  it  seems,  to  be  laughed  at  as  a 
person  sufficiently  distinguishing  and  enumerating  things 
according  to  their  species. 

Prot.  What  say  you,  my  good  man? 

Soc.  It  seems  again  that  there  is  need  of  a  fourth  kind. 

Prot.  Say,  what  ? 

Soc.  Of  the  combination  of  these  with  each  other  con¬ 
sider  then  the  cause ;  and  to  these  three  species  set  me  down 
this  for  a  fourth. 

Prot.  Will  there  not  be  wanting  a  fifth  too,  able  to  pro¬ 
duce  the  separation  of  something? 

Soc.  Perhaps  there  may;  but  not,  I  think,  at  present. 
However,  should  there  be  a  want  of  it,  you  will  .pardon  me, 
if  I  go  in  pursuit  of  a  fifth  [life]. 

Prot.  How  so? 

Soc.  Having,  in  the  first  place,  of  these  four  species, 
divided  the  three,  let  us,  after  having  seen  each  of  two  cut 
into  many  parts  and  dispersed,  endeavor  by  collecting  again 
each  into  one,  to  understand  those  two,  in  what  manner 
each  of  them  is,  at  the  same  time,  one  and  many. 

Prot.  If  you  would  speak  more  plainly  respecting  them, 
I  might  perhaps  follow  you. 

Soc.  I  say  then  that  the  two,  which  I  lay  before  you,  are 
those  which  I  just  now  (spcke  of)  ;  one  the  limitless,  and 
the  other  limit.  Xow,  that  the  limitless  is  in  some  manner 
many,  I  will  attempt  to  show;  but  let  that,  which  has  a 
limit,  wait  for  us  a  while. 

Prot.  It  shall  wait. 

Soc.  Consider  now ;  for  what  I  order  you  to  consider  is  a 
thing  difficult  and  doubtful.  Consider  it,  however.  With 
regard  to  things  hotter  and  colder,  first  see  if  you  can  con¬ 
ceive  any  limit  to  them.  Or  would  not  the  more  and  the 
less,  residing  in  the  genera  themselves  of  things,  enjoin,  so 


PHILEBUS.  .  231 

long  as  they  resided  there,  an  end  to  be  not  in  them?  For 
if  there  were  an  end,  they  are  at  an  end  themselves. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  truly. 

Soc.  And  we  say  that  in  the  hotter  and  colder  there  is 
the  more  and  the  less. 

Prot.  Yery  much  so. 

Soc.  Season  then  ever  points  out  to  us  that  the  colder 
and  the  hotter  have  no  end ;  and  being  thus  without  any 
end,  they  are  altogether  limitless. 

Prot.  Vehemently  so,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Well  have  you  answered,  friend  Protarchus,  and  re¬ 
minded  me,  that  the  “ vehementlj',”  which  you  now. pro¬ 
nounced,  and  the  “  gently,”  have  the  same  power  as  the 
“  more  ”  and  the  “  less.”  For,  wherever  they  reside,  they 
suffer  not  any  thing  to  be  just  “so  much;”  but  infusing 
something  more  vehement  than  the  more  gentle  into  every 
action,  and  the  contrary,  they  effect  either  “  the  more  ”  or 
“the  less;”  but  cause  the  “just  so  much”  to  disappear. 
For,  as  it  was  just  now  stated,  if  they  did  not  cause  the 
“  just  so  much  ”  to  disappear,  but  permitted  both  it  and 
“  the  moderate  ”  to  be  in  the  seat  of  “  the  more  ”  and  “  the 
less,”  or  of  “  the  vehement  ”  and  “  the  gentle,”  these  very 
things  (would)  flow  out  of  their  own  place  in  which  they 
were;  for  if  they  admitted  the  “just  so  much,”  “the 
hotter  ”  and  “  the  colder  ”  would  not  exist.  For  “  the 
hotter,”  and  in  like  manner-  “  the  colder,”  is  always  ad¬ 
vancing  forward,  and  never  abides  in  the  same  spot;  but 
the  “  just  so  much  ”  stops,  and  ceases  to  progress.  Accord¬ 
ing  then  to  this  reasoning,  “  the  hotter  ”  must  be  limitless ; 
and  so  must  also  be  “  the  colder.” 

Prot.  So  indeed,  Socrates,  it  appears.  But,  as  you  said, 
these  things  are  not  easy  to  follow.  But  subjects  spoken 
of  again  and  again  would  perhaps  show  the  questioner  and 
the  questioned  agreeing  sufficiently  together. 

Soc.  You  say  well ;  and  let  us  try  so  to  do.  But  for  the 
present,  see  whether  we  will  receive  this  as  a  sign  of  the 
nature  of  the  limitless,  in  order  that,  by  going  through  all, 
we  may  not  be  prolix. 

Prot.  What  mark  do  you  mean? 


232  THE  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

Soc.  Whatever  things  appear  to  us  to  be  growing  more 
or  less,  or  to  admit  of  the  vehement,  and  the  gentle,  and 
the  too  much,  and  all  such  attributes,  we  ought  to  refer 
all  these  to  the  genus  of  the  limitless,  as  to  one  thing,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  previous  remark  which  we  made,  that  what¬ 
ever  things  were  torn  and  cut  into  parts,  we  ought  to 
collect,  to  the  best  of  our  power,  and  put  a  mark  on  them  as 
being  of  some  one  nature,  if  you  remember. 

Prot.  I  remember  it. 

Soc.  Those  things  then,  which  do  not  admit  these  at¬ 
tributes,  but  admit  their  contraries,  in  the  first  place,  the 
equal  and  equality,  and,  after  the  equal,  the  double,  and 
whatever  other  relation  one  number  bears  to  another,  and 
one  measure  to  another,  by  reckoning  up  all  these  as  re¬ 
lating  to  limit,  should  we  seem  to  do  right?  or  how  say 
you  ? 

Prot.  Perfectly  right,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Be  it  so.  But  the  third  thing,  made  up  of  the 
other  two,  what  idea  shall  we  say  it  possesses  ? 

Prot.  Yourself,  as  I  conceive,  will  tell  me. 

Soc.  A  deity  (might) ;  if  any  of  the  gods  will  hearken  to 
mv  prayers. 

Prot.  Pray,  then,  and  take  a  survey. 

Soc.  I  do  survey :  and  some  deity,  Protarchus,  seems 
now  to  have  become  favorable  to  us. 

Prot.  How  say  you  this?  and  of  what  proof  do  you  make 

use? 

Soc.  I  will  tell  you  plainly :  but  do  you  follow  my  reason¬ 
ing. 

Prot.  Only  speak. 

Soc.  We  mentioned  just  now  the  hotter  and  the  colder; 
did  we  not  ? 

Prot.  Yes. 

Soc.  To  these  then  add  the  drier  and  the  moister,  the 
more  numerous  and  the  fewer,  the  swifter  and  the  slower, 
the  larger  and  the  smaller,  and  whatever  things  beside  that 
we  previously  ranked  under  the  one  head  of  a  nature,  that 
admits'  of  the  more  and  the  less. 

Prot.  You  mean  of  the  limitless. 


PHILEBUS.  233 

Soc.  Yes:  and  do  you  combine  into  this  that  which  we 
spoke  of  next  afterward,  the  genus  of  limit. 

Proi.  What  genus  ? 

Soc.  That,  which,  when  we  should  just  now  have  brought 
together  (as  the  genus)  of  the  limit,  formed  in  the  same 
manner,  as  we  brought  together  the  genus  of  the  limitless, 
we  did  not  bring  together.  But  now  perhaps  you  will  do 
the  same.  When  both  these  are  brought  together,  that  too 
will  become  manifest. 

Prut.  Of  what  (genus)  are  you  speaking?  and  how? 

Soc.  I  speak  of  that  relating  to  the  equal  and  the  double, 
and  whatever  else  causes  things  to  cease  at  variance  with 
each  other,  and  by  introducing  number,  moulds  them  into 
what  are  symmetrical  and  harmonize  with  each  other. 

Prot.  I  understand.  You  seem  to  me  to  say  that  if  these 
are  combined  certain  productions  would  somehow  arise  in 
the  case  of  each. 

Soc.  (Yes.)  For  I  seem  (to  have  spoken)  correctly. 

Prot.  Say  on  then. 

Soc.  In  the  case  of  diseases,  does  not  the  right  combina¬ 
tion  of  those  two  produce  the  state  of  health  ? 

Prot.  Entirely  so. 

Soc.  And  in  the  acute  and  the  grave,  the  swift  also  and 
the  slow,  all  being  limitless,  do  not  the  very  same  thing, 
being  introduced,  effect  at  the  same  time  a  limit  and  render 
most  perfect  all  the  Muse’s  art  ? 

Prot.  Yes,  most  beautifully. 

Soc.  Moreover  it  being  introduced  into  cold  weather  and 
hot,  it  takes  off  the  very  much,  the  too  much,  and  the 
infinite,  but  it  effects  the  moderate  and  the  symmetrical. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  And  are  not  produced  from  them  mild  seasons,  and 
all  whatever  is  lovely  for  us,  the  limitless  and  those  which 
have  a  limit  being  combined  together  ? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  A  thousand  other  things  I  omit  to  state ;  as,  for 
instance,  together  with  health,  beauty  and  strength  ;  and  in 
the  soul  other  properties  very  many  and  very  beautiful. 
For  the  goddess  herself,  0  thou  handsome  Philebus,  look- 


234 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


ing  down  upon  lust,  and  all  manner  of  vice  in  all  persons, 
(and)  (seeing)  no  limit  existing  in  them  of  pleasures  and 
their  full  enjoyment,  has  laid  down  a  law  and  order,  having 
a  limit.  And  you  said  that  she  would  wear  down;  but  I 
maintain,  on  the  contrary,  that  she  would  preserve.  But 
how,  Protarchus,  does  it  (now)  appear  to  you? 

Prot.  This,  Socrates,  is  quite  to  my  mind. 

Soc.  I  have  mentioned  then  those  three  things,  if  you 
comprehend. 

Prot.  I  think  I  do.  For  one  you  seem  to  call  the  limit¬ 
less,  and  one,  the  second,  the  limit  in  all  things:  but  what 
you  mean  by  the  third,  I  do  not  very  well  comprehend. 

Soc.  Because  the  multitude,  0  thou  wondrous  man,  of 
the  generation  of  the  third,  has  amazed  you.  And  yet  the 
limitless  has  afforded  you  many  genera;  but  as  they  were 
all  of  them  marked  with  the  seal  of  the  genus  of  the  more 
and  its  opposite  they  appeared  one. 

Prot.  True. 

Soc.  And  yet  neither  did  limit  contain  many,  nor  did  we 
bear  it  ill  that  it  was  not  by  nature  one. 

Prot.  How  could  we  ? 

Soc.  By  no  means.  But  do  thou  say  that  by  the  third  I 
mean  this  one,  laying  down  all  their  progeny,  from  the 
measures  which  have  effected  together  with  limit  a  genera¬ 
tion  into  being. 

Prot.  I  understand  you. 

Soc.  How  besides  these  three,  we  then  said  we  must 
look  for  some  fourth  kind,  and  that  the  looking  for  it  was 
common  to  us  both.  See  then  whether  it  seems  to  you 
necessary  for  all  things,  which  are  produced,  to  be  pro¬ 
duced  through  some  cause. 

Prot.  So  it  seems  to  me;  for  without  that  (thing),  how 
should  they  be  produced  ? 

Soc.  The  nature  then  of  the  thing  making  differs  from 
the  cause  in  nothing  but  the  name:  so  that  the  thing 
making  and  the  cause  may  be  rightly  deemed  one. 

Prot.  Rightly. 

Soc.  So,  likewise,  the  thing  made,  and  the  thing  pro- 


PHILEBUS, 


235 

ducod,  we  shall  find,  as  just  now  said,  to  differ  in  nothing 
but  the  name;  or  how? 

Prot.  J ust  so. 

Soc.  According  to  nature,  does  not  the  thing  making 
ever  lead  the  way?  and  the  thing  made  follow  it  into 
being  ? 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Cause  then,  and  that  which  is  the  slave  of  cause 
for  production,  is  another  thing,  and  not  the  same. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Have  not.  the  things  which  are  produced,  and  the 
things  out  of  which  they  are  all  produced,  exhibited  to  us 
the  three  genera  ? 

Prot.  Clearly. 

Soc.  The  fourth  then,  which  is  the  artificer  of  all  these, 
let  ns  call  the  cause ;  as  it  has  been  sufficiently  shown  to 
be  different  from  those. 

Prot.  Let  us  call  it. 

Soc.  The  four  sorts  having  been  now  defined,  it  is  well, 
for  the  sake  of  remembering  each  one,  to  enumerate  them 
in  order. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc..  The  first  then  I  call  limitless;  the  second,  limit; 
the. third,  what  is  mixed  and  generated  from  these;  and  in 
saying  that  the  cause  of  this  mixture  and  this  production 
is  the  fourth,  should  I  do  aught  amiss  ? 

Prot.  How  so  ? 

Soc.  Well  now,  what  is  the  reasoning  after  this?  and 
with  what.desipi  have  we  come  to  this?  Was  it  not  this? 
We  were  inquiring  whether  the  second  prize  was  due  to 
Pleasure  or  Intellect.  Was  it  not  so? 

Prot.  It  was  so. 

Soc.  Since  then  we  have  thus  divided  these  things,  may 
we  not  now  better  form  a  finished  judgment  about  the  first 
and  the  second,  respecting  which  we  disputed  at  first. 

Prot.  Perhaps  so. 

Soc.  Come  now,  we  laid  down,  as  the  conqueror,  the 
combined  life  of  Pleasure  and  Intellect.  Was  it  not  so? 

Prot.  It  was. 


236 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  Do  we  not  perceive  then  somehow  what  this  life  is, 

and  of  what  genus  ? 

Prol.  How  not? 

Soc.  And  I  think  we  shall  say,  that  it  is  a  part  of  the 
third.  For  it  is  not  combined  with  some  tw'o,  but  with  all 
the  limitless  linked  by  a  chain  with  limit;  so  that  this  life, 
the  winner  of  the  \ictory,  may  be  rightly  said  to  be  a  part 
of  the  third. 

Prot.  Most  rightly. 

Soc.  Be  it  so.  But  that  life  of  yours,  Philebus,  being 
pleasant  and  uncombined,  to  which  of  the  three  can  it  be 
rightly  said  to  belong?  But  before  you  pronounce,  answer 
me  first  this  question. 

Phil.  Propose  it  then. 

Soc.  Have  Pleasure  and  Pain  a  limit?  or  are  they 
amongst  the  things  which  admit  “the  more”  and  “the 

less?” 

Phil.  Assuredly,  Socrates,  amongst  those  (that  admit) 
“  the  more.”  For  Pleasure  would  not  be  wholly  a  good, 
if  it  were  not  by  nature  limitless  with  respect  to  multitude 
and  “  the  more.” 

Soc.  Yor  would  Pain,  Philebus,  be  -wholly  an  evil;  so 
that  we  must  think  of  something  else  than  the  nature  of  the 
limitless,  which  is  to  impart  any  good  to  pleasures.  Let 
then  this  be  the  issue  of  the  limitless.  But  to  which  of  the 
before-mentioned  may  we,  Protarehus  and  Philebus,  refer 
Intellect,  and  Science,  and  Mind,  and  not  be  impious? 
For  there  seem  to  me  to  be  no  little  danger  to  us,  whether 
we  are  right  or  not  respecting  the  present  question. 

Phil.  You  magnify,  Socrates,  that  god  of  yours. 

Soc.  So  do  you,  my  friend,  that  goddess  of  yours.  The 
question,  however,  ought  to  be  answered  by  us. 

Prot.  Socrates  speaks  correctly,  Philebus,  and  we  must 
obey  him. 

Phil.  Have  not  you.  Protarehus,  taken  upon  yourself  to 
speak  on  my  part  ? 

Prot.  Certainly.  But  in  the  present  case  I  am  nearly  at 
a  loss ;  and  I  request  of  you,  Socrates,  to  become  yourself 
a  speaker  for  us,  in  order  that  we  may  not,  by  a  mistake 


PHILEBUS. 


237 


respecting  the  combatant,  say  something  contrary  to  the 
measure. 

Soc.  We  must  obey,  Protarchus.  For  you  enjoin  noth¬ 
ing  difficult.  But  when  I  was  magnifying,  as  Philebus 
says,  (a  deity)  by  way  of  a  joke,  I  did  in  reality  confuse 
you,  by  asking  of  what  genus  were  Mind  and  Science. 

Prot.  Altogether  so,  Socrates. 

Soc.  And  yet  it  was  an  easy  (question).  For  all  the 
wise,  in  reality  extolling  themselves,  agree  that  Mind  is  to 
us  a  king  of  heaven  and  earth.  And  perhaps  they  say  well. 
But  let  us,  if  you  are  willing,  make  our  examination  of  this 
genus  rather  more  at  length. 

Prot.  Speak  as  you  wish,  taking  no  account  of  the 
length,  as  you  will  not  be  disagreeable  (to  us). 

Soc.  You  have  spoken  fairly.  Let  us  begin,  then,  by 
asking  a  question  in  such  way  as  this. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  Whether  shall  we  say  that  the  power  of  an  irra¬ 
tional  (principle)  governs  all  things,  and  that,  which  is 
called  the  universe,  at  random,  and  as  may  happen?  or,  on 
the  contrary,  as  our  predecessors  asserted,  that  Mind  and  a 
certain  wonderful  Intellect,  arranges  things  together,  and 
governs  throughout  ? 

Prot.  Alike  in  nothing,  Socrates,  (are  the  two  tenets). 
For  what  you  have  just  now  mentioned  seems  to  me  to  be 
impious.  But,  to  say  that  Intellect  disposes  all  icings  in 
order,  is  worthy  of  our  view  of  the  world,  and  of  sun,  and 
the  moon,  and  the  stars,  and  the  whole  revolution  (of 
heaven)  ;  nor  would  I  ever  say,  or  even  think,  otherwise 
respecting  them. 

Soc.  Do  you  wish  then  for  us  to  say  something  in  ac¬ 
cordance  with  our  predecessors,  that  such  is  the  case,  and 
for  us  not  merely  to  think  that  we  ought  to  speak  the  senti¬ 
ments  of  others  without  danger  to  ourselves,  but  that  we 
should  run  the  risk  together,  and  share  in  the  censure, 
should  a  man  of  mighty  power  assert  that  these  things  are 
not  in  this  state,  but  in  that  of  disorder  ? 

Prot.  How  should  I  not  wish  it? 


'  238  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

Soc.  Come  now,  look  to  the  reasoning,  which  is  ad¬ 
vancing  towards  ns  respecting  these  matters. 

Prot.  Only  say  it. 

Soc.  The  things  that  surround  the  nature  of  all  the 
bodies  of  animals,  (namely,)  fire,  and  water,  and  air,  and 
earth,  we  somehow  descry,  as  persons  tossed  in  a  storm 
say  (of  land),  existing  in  the  constitution  (of  the  uni¬ 
verse). 

Frot.  And  truly  so  ;  for  we  are  really  tossed  about  in  our 
present  reasonings. 

Soc.  Come  then,  respecting  each  of  those  things  in  us, 
conceive  some  such  thing  as  this. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  That  each  of  those  in  us  is  little  and  inconsider¬ 
able,  and  is  nowhere  and  in  no  manner  pure,  and  possess¬ 
ing  a  power  worthy  of  its  nature.  Take  them  in  the  case 
of  one  (element),  and  understand  the  same  respecting  all. 
Fire  in  some  manner  exists  in  us,  and  it  exists  also  in  the 
universe. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  How  the  fire,  which  is  in  us,  is  weak  and  incon¬ 
siderable  ;  but  that  which  is  in  the  universe  is  wonderful  for 
its  multitude  and  beauty,  and  for  every  power  which  be¬ 
longs  to  fire. 

Prot.  What  you  say  is  very  true. 

Soc.  What  then  ?  Is  the  fire  of  the  universe  generated, 
and  fed,  and  ruled  by  that  which  we  have  in  us?  or,  on 
the  contrary,  does  mine  and  yours,  and  that  in  the  rest  of 
animals,  receive  all  these  things  from  it  ? 

Prot.  You  ask  this  question,  which  does  not  deserve  an 
answer. 

Soc.  True.  For  you  will  say  the  same,  I  think,  of  the 
earth,  which  exists  here  in  animals,  and  of  that  in  the 
universe ;  and  so  will  you  answer  touching  all  the  other 
things,  about  which  T  inquired  a  little  before. 

Prot.  For  who  in  his  senses  would  ever  be  seen  answer¬ 
ing  in  another  way  ? 

Soc.  Scarcely  not  any  one  whatever.  But  follow  us  to 
what  comes  next  in  order.  Have  we  not,  looking  to  all 


PHILEBUS.  239 

those  things  just  now  mentioned,  and  brought  to  one  point, 
called  them  body? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Conceive  the  same  thing  then  with  regard  to  this, 
which  we  call  the  world.  For  in  the  same  manner,  being 
composed  of  the  same  elements,  it  would  be  body. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  correctly. 

Soc.  Whether  from  that  body  wholly  is  nourished  the 
body  with  us,  or  that  body  from  the  one  with  us  ?  and  has 
it  received  and  does  it  keep  whatever  properties  we  have 
just  now  mentioned  respecting  them? 

Prot.  And  this  too  is  another  point,  Socrates,  not  de¬ 
serving  a  question. 

Soc.  What  then?  Is  this  deserving?  Or  how  will  you 
say  ? 

Prot  Say  what  it  is. 

Soc.  Shall  we  not  affirm  that  the  body  with  us  possesses  a 

soul? 

Prot.  It  is  evident,  we  shall  affirm  it. 

Soc.  From  whence,  friend  Protarchus,  did  it  obtain  it, 
unless  the  body  of  the  universe  happens  to  be  with  a  soul, 
and  possessing  the  same  things  as  this,  but  in  every  way 
more  beautiful  ? 

Prot.  It  is  evident,  Socrates,  from  no  other  source. 

Soc.  For  we  cannot  surely,  Protarchus,  expect  that, 
while  there  are  these  four  things,  limit,  the  limitless,  the 
combination  (of  both),  and  the  genus  of  the  cause,  amongst 
all  the  four,  it  is  permissible  for  that,  which  furnishes  the 
soul  in  us,  and  makes  the  body  a  tabernacle  (for  it),  and, 
when  the  body  has  met  with  a  stumbling-block,  cures  it  by 
the  medical  art,  and  on  other  occasions  frames  other  con¬ 
stitutions,  these  should  be  addressed  by  the  name  of  wis¬ 
dom,  whole  and  of  every  kind;  but  that,  while  these  very 
same  things  exist  in  the  whole  of  heaven,  and  according  to 
its  great  parts,  and,  moreover,  while  they  are  lovely  and 
without  blemish,  in  these  there  should  not  have  been 
planned  the  nature  of  things  the  most  beautiful  and  held 
in  the  highest  honor. 

Prot.  This  would  indeed  have  no  reason  on  its  side. 


240 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  If  this  then  be  irrational,  we  may  the  better  assert, 
by  following  that  reasoning  of  ours,  that  there  is,  what  we 
have  often  said,  in  the  universe  many  a  limitless,  and  a 
limit  sufficient,  and  besides  these,  a  cause,  not  inconsider¬ 
able  which  puts  into  order  and  arranges  the  years,  and 
seasons,  and  months, — a  cause,  which  may  most  justly  be 
called  Wisdom  and  Mind. 

Prot.  Most  justly,  indeed. 

Soc.  Wisdom  however  and  Mind  could  not  exist  without 
Soul. 

Prot.  By  no  means. 

Soc.  You  will  say  then  that  in  the  nature  of  Zeus  there 
is  a  kingly  soul  in  a  kingly  mind,  through  the  power  of  the 
cause  ;  and  that  in  the  other  (gods)  there  are  other  beauti¬ 
ful  attributes,  according  as  it  is  agreeable  for  each  to  be 
called. 

Prot.  Certainly  I  shall. 

Soc.  Do  not  think,  Protarchus,  that  we  have  spoken  this 
discourse  at  all  in  vain.  For  it  fights  on  the  side  of  those 
persons  of  the  olden  time,  who  showed  that  Mind  is  ever 
the  ruler  of  the  universe. 

Prot.  It  does  so  very  much. 

Soc.  Besides  it  has  furnished  an  answer  to  my  inquiry, — 
that  Mind  is  a  relation  of  that,  which  was  said  to  be  the 
cause  of  all  things;  for  of  the  four  this  was  one.  For  now 
at  length  you  surely  have  the  answer. 

Prot.  I  have,  and  very  sufficiently.  But  it  lay  hid  from 
me  that  you  were  giving  the  answer. 

Soc.  For  play  is  sometimes,  Protarchus,  a  remission 
from  serious  study. 

Prot.  Well  have  you  said  this. 

Soc.  And  thus,  my  friend,  of  what  genus  Mind  is,  and 
of  what  power  it  is  possessed,  has  been  now  shown  tolerably 
well  for  the  present. 

Prot.  It  has,  completely. 

Soc.  Moreover  in  like  manner  the  genus  of  Pleasure  has 
appeared  before. 

Prot.  Very  much  so. 

Soc.  Concerning  these  two  then  let  us  remember  this 


PHILEBUS. 


241 


also that  Mind  is  a  relation  to  cause,  and  is  nearly  of  that 
genus;  but  that  Pleasure  is  both  limitless  itself,  and  is  of 
that  genus  which,  of  itself,  neither  has  nor  ever  will  have  in 
itself,  either  a  beginning,  or  a  middle,  or  an  end. 

Prot.  We  will  remember.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Now  we  ought  to  consider  next,  in  which  genus 
either  of  these  two  exists,  and  through  what  circumstance 
they  are  produced,  when  they  come  into  being,  first  in  the 
case  of  Pleasure;  (for,)  as  we  previously  tried  by  a  touch¬ 
stone  its  genus,  so,  with  regard  to  these  points,  (we  must 
try)  them  previously.  For,  apart  from  Pain,  we  should 
never  be  able  fully  to  try  Pleasure. 

Prot.  Nay,  if  we  must  proceed  in  this  way,  let  us  pro¬ 
ceed. 

Soc.  Hoes  it  seem  to  you,  as  to  me,  as  regards  pro¬ 
duction  ? 

Prot.  What  ? 

Soc.  Pain  and  Pleasure  appear  to  me  to  be  produced 
naturally  at  the  same  time  as  a  common  genus. 

Prot .  Eemind  us,  friend  Socrates,  which  of  the  genera 
mentioned  before,  you  wish  to  indicate  by  the  word  com¬ 
mon. 

Soc.  This  shall  be  done,  0  thou  wondrous  man,  to  the 
best  of  my  power. 

Prot.  You  have  spoken  fairly. 

Soc.  By  common,  then,  let  us  understand  that,  which  we 
reckoned  as  the  third  of  the  four. 

Prot.  That  which  you  mentioned  after  both  the  limitless 
and  limit ;  in  which  you  ranked  health,  and  also,  as  I  think, 
harmony. 

Soc.  You  have  said  perfectly  right.  Now  give  me  all 
possible  attention. 

Prot.  Only  speak. 

Soc.  I  say,  then,  that  whenever  the  harmony  (in  the 
frame)  of  any  animal  is  loosened,  a  loosening  is  made  in 
its  nature,  and  at  that  very  time  the  production  of  pains 
takes  place. 

Prot.  You  say  what  is  very  probable. 

Soc.  But  when  the  harmony  is  properly  fitted,  and  it 

16 


212 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


returns  to  its  own  nature,  we  must  say  that  pleasure  is 
produced,  if  it  is  requisite  for  arguments  on  matters  of  the 
greatest  moment  to  be  despatched  as  quickly  as  possible  in  a 
few  words. 

Prot.  I  think,  Socrates,  you  speak  correctly ;  but  let  us 
endeavor  to  speak  of  these  same  things  still  more 
clearly. 

Soc.  Is  it  not  most  easy  to  understand  things  of  common 
occurrence  and  seen  all  around  ? 

Prot.  What  kind  of  things? 

Soc.  Hunger,  surely,  is  a  loosening  and  a  pain. 

Prot.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  by  eating,  a  filling-up  is,  on  the  other  hand,  a 
pleasure. 

Prot.  Yes. 

Soc.  Thirst  also,  again,  is  a  corruption  and  pain,  and  a 
loosening;  but  the  power  of  a  liquid,  by  replenishing  the 
part  dried  up,  is  a  pleasure.  Again,  the  suffering  a  preter¬ 
natural  heat,  being  a  separation  and  dissolving,  is  a  pain: 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  according  to  nature,  a  giving  way 
and  cooling  is  a  pleasure. 

Prot.  Most  certainly. 

Soc.  And  the  coagulation  of  animal  moisture  through 
cold,  contrary  to  its  nature,  is  a  pain:  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  return  to  the  same  (state),  according  to  nature,  of 
what  had  departed  and  been  separated  (from  it),  is  a 
pleasure.  And,  in  one  word,  consider  whether  the  reason¬ 
ing  is  in  moderation,  which  says,  that  when  the  species, 
naturally  produced  with  a  soul  from  the  limitless  and 
limit,  as  I  previously  stated,  is  corrupted,  to  it  corruption 
is  a  pain  ;  but  that  the  road  into  their  being,  and  the  return 
back  again,  is  of  all  a  pleasure. 

Prot.  Be  it  so;  for  it  seems  to  have  some  stamp  (of  like¬ 
lihood). 

Soc.  Let  us  then  lay  down  this  as  "one  kind  of  pain  and 
pleasure  (as  existing)  under  each  of  those  conditions. 

Prot.  Let  it  so  lie. 

Soc.  Lav  down  now  the  expectation  of  the  soul  itself, 
regards  the  nature  of  these  circumstances;  one  antecedent 


PHILEBUS. 


243 


to  pleasures  (enjoyed),  a  matter  hoped  for,  agreeable  and 
full  of  confidence;  the  other,  antecedent  to  pains  (en¬ 
dured),  a  thing  of  fear  and  anxiety. 

Prot.  This  is,  therefore,  a  different  species  of  pleasure 
and  pain,  independent  of  the  body,  and  produced  through 
an  expectation  of  the  soul  herself. 

Soc.  You  have  understood  the  matter  rightly.  Now  in 
these  (feelings),  I  think,  according  to  my  opinion  at  least, 
being  each  of  them,  as  it  seems,  sincere  and  unmixed,  of 
pain  and  pleasure,  there  will  be  manifest  that  respecting 
pleasure,  whether  the  whole  genus  is  to  be  embraced,  or  this 
is  to  be  assigned  to  some  genus  different  from  those  before- 
mentioned;  but  that  to  pleasure  and  pain  (it  is  allowable), 
like  heat  and  cold,  and  all  other  things  of  this  sort,  for  us 
to  sometimes  embrace  them,  and  at  other  times  not  to 
embrace,  as  being  not  good  in  themselves,  but  admitting 
only  sometimes,  and  some  of  them,  the  nature  of  the 
good. 

Prof.  You  say  most  correctly  that  it  is  requisite  for  the 
thing  now  pursued  to  be  caused  to  go  somewhere  in  tins 
road. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  look  together  at  this  part  first.  Since, 
if  what  has  been  said  is  really  the  fact,  when  those  things 
are  being  destroyed,  there  would  be  pain,  but  being  pre¬ 
served,  pleasure,  let  us  now  consider  respecting  those  which 
are  neither  being  destroyed,  nor  being  preserved,  what 
condition  must  there  then  be  to  each  animal,  when  such  is 
the  case.  Give  your  earnest  attention  to  this  point,  and  tell 
me,  is  there  not  every  necessity  for  every  animal  at  that 
time  to  be  neither  pained  nor  pleased,  either  greatly  or 
little  ? 

Prot.  There  is  a  necessity. 

Soc.  There  is  then  some  third  disposition  of  this  kind, 
beside  that  of  being  delighted  and  that  of  being  grieved. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Come  then,  be  ready  to  remember  this  (decision). 
For  towards  the  verdict  respecting  pleasure,  it  will  be  not  a 
little  thing  for  us  to  remember  it  or  not.  But  let  us,  if  you 
please,  go  through  this  point  in  few  words. 


244 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Trot.  Say,  what? 

Soc.  To  a  person  preferring  a  life  of  intellect,  you  know 
there  is  no  hinderance  to  his  living  in  that  manner. 

Prot.  Do  you  mean  in  the  state  of  being  neither  pleased 

nor  pained  ?  . 

Soc.  Yes;  for  it  was  stated  in  our  comparison  of  the 
lives,  that  there  was  no  necessity  for  the  person,  preferring 
the  life  of  mind  and  intellect,  to  be  delighted  either  much 
or  little. 

Prot.  It  was  altogether  said  so. 

Soc.  In  this  way  therefore  it  would  be  to  him. .  And  per¬ 
haps  it  would  be  by  no  means  out  of  the  way,  if  that  life 
were  of  all  the  most  godlike. 

Prot.  To  me  at  least  it  seems  unlikely  that  the  gods  feel 
neither  pleasure  nor  its  opposite. 

Soc.  It  is  highly,  indeed,  unlikely.  For  each  of  these 
things  is  unseemly.  But  let  us  consider  further  this  point 
afterwards,  if  it  should  be  to  the  purpose;  and  we  will 
apply  it  towards  (winning)  the  second  prize  for  mind, 
should  we  be  unable  (o  apply  it  for  (winning)  the  first. 
Prot.  You  speak  most  correctly. 

Soc.  Now  that  other  species  of  pleasures,  which  we  said 
is  peculiar  to  the  soul  herself,  is  all  produced  through 
memory. 

Prot.  How  so? 

Soc.  What  memory  is,  we  ought,  it  seems,  to  previously 
remember:  and  prior  to  memory,  what  perception  is,  me- 
thinks ;  if,  what  relates  to  these  points,  is  about  to  become, 
as  is  fitting,  clear  to  us. 

Prot.  How  say  you? 

Soc.  Of  those  circumstances,  which  are  on  every  occasion 
surrounding  our  body,  lay  down  that  some  are  extinguished, 
before  they  enter  thoroughly  the  soul,  and  leave  it  un¬ 
scathed;  others  going  through  both,  bring  on  them,  as  it 
were,  a  kind  of  earthquake,  peculiar  (to  each)  and  common 
to  both. 

.  Prot.  Be  it  laid  down. 

Soc.  If  we  should  say  that  those,  which  do  not  go 
through  both,  lie  hid  from  our  soul,  but  that  those  which 


PHILEBUS. 


245 


(do  go)  through  both,  do  not  lie  hid,  should  we  speak  most 
correctly  ? 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  By  no  means  understand  that  I  am  speaking  of 
lying  hid,  as  being  in  that  case  somehow  the  production  of 
forgetfulness.  For  forgetfulness  is  the  departure  of 
memory.  But  that  has  not  as  yet,  in  what  has  been  said, 
been  produced.  How  of  that,  which  neither  is  nor  has 
been,  it  is  absurd  to  say  there  is  any  loss.  Is  it  not  ? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Only  then  alter  the  terms. 

Prot.  How? 

Sou.  Instead  then  of  (saying  that)  a  thing  lies  hid  from 
the  soul,  when  it  is  unscathed  by  any  violent  shakings  of 
the  body,  call  that  insensibility,  which  you  just  now  called 
forgetfulness. 

Prot.  I  understand. 

Soc.  In  the  soul  and  the  body,  when  affected,  in  common 
by  one  circumstance,  being  moved  also  in  common,  you 
would  not  speak  wide  of  the  mark  by  naming  that  motion  a 
sensation. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  truly. 

Soc.  Now  then  do  we  not  understand,  what  we  mean  to 
call  sensation? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  And  a  person  saying  that  memory  is  a  preservation 
of  sensation,  would  correctly  say  so  in  my  opinion. 

Prot.  He  would  correctly. 

Soc.  Ho  we  not  say  that  memory  differs  from  recollec¬ 
tion  ? 

Prot.  Perhaps  so. 

Soc.  Is  it  not  in  this? 

Prot.  In  what? 

Soc.  When,  what  the  soul  has  once  together  with  the 
body  suffered,  this  it  does  itself  by  itself  without  the  body, 
as  much  as  possible,  recover,  we  say  that  it  then  recollects. 
Do  we  not? 

Prot.  Entirely  so. 

Soc.  Moreover,  -when  the  soul,  after  losing  the  memory 


246 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


of  a  thing  perceived  or  learnt,  brings  it  back  again,  itself 
by  itself,  in  all  these  instances  too  we  speak  of  recollections, 
and  memories. 

Prot.  You  speak  correctly. 

Soc.  The  reason,  for  which  all  this  has  been  said,  is 
this. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  That  we  may  at  the  same  time  understand  as  clearly 
as  possible  the  pleasure  of  the  soul  apart  from  that  of  the 
body,  and,  at  the  same  time,  desire.  For  both  of  these 
seem  likely  to  he  made  clear  through  those. 

Prot.  Let  us  then,  Socrates,  now  speak  of  -what  is  to 
follow. 

Soc.  In  treating  of  the  generation  of  pleasure,  and  of 
its  ever}-  form,  it  is  necessary  it  seems  for  us  to  look  to 
many  points.  For  even  now  we  must,  it  appears,  consider, 
what  desire  is,  and  where  it  is  produced. 

Prot.  Let  us  then  consider ;  for  we  shall  lose  nothing  by 
it. 

Soc.  Hay,  Protarchus,  we  shall  lose  our  doubt  about 
them,  and  this  too,  after  having  found  what  we  are  in 
search  of. 

Prot.  You  have  well  defended  yourself.  Let  us  then  try 
to  discuss  what  is  next  in  order  to  these. 

Soc.  Did  we  not  assert  just  now,  that  hunger,  and  thirst, 
and  many  other  things  of  the  like  kind,  were  certain 
desires  ? 

Prot.  Yes,  strongly. 

SoT:  Looking,  then,  to  what  thing,  the  same  (in  all),  do 
we  call  those  differing  so  much  (from  one  another)  by  one 
name  ? 

Prot.  By  Zeus,  Socrates,  it  is,  perhaps,  not  easy  to  say ;  it 
must,  however,  be  told. 

Soc.  Let  us  from  thence  take  up  the  inquiry  again  from 
the  same  points. 

Prot.  From  whence? 

Soc.  Do  we  not  constantly  say  that  thirst  is  something? 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  Is  not  this,  to  have  an  emptiness  ? 


PHILEBUS. 


247 


Trot.  How  not? 

Soc.  Is  not  thirst  a  desire? 

Prot.  Yes,  for  drink. 

Soc.  For  drink?  or  for  a  repletion  from  drink? 

Prot.  For  repletion,  I  suppose. 

Soc.  Whoever  of  us  then  is  emptied,  desires,  it  seems, 
what  is  contrary  to  what  he  is  suffering.  For  being  emp¬ 
tied,  he  desires  to  be  filled. 

Prot.  Most  clearly  so. 

Soc.  What  then,  is  it  possible  that  the  person,  who  is 
empty  for  the  first  time,  should  apprehend,  from  any  quar¬ 
ter,  either  from  sense  or  memory,  a  filling  of  that,  by  which 
he  neither  is  at  the  present  time  affected,  nor  ever  was  af¬ 
fected  heretofore. 

Prot.  How  can  it  be? 

Soc.  But,  however,  the  person  who  desires,  5'esires  some¬ 
thing. 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  Now  he  does  not  desire  that  which  he  is  suffering. 
For  he  is  suffering  thirst,  and  that  is  emptiness ;  but  he  de¬ 
sires  repletion. 

Prot.  True. 

Soc.  Something,  therefore,  of  those  belonging  to  the 
thirsty  person,  would  have  a  perception  in  some  manner  of 
repletion. 

Prot.  Necessarily. 

Soc.  Now  the  body  is  unable;  for  it  is  suffering  empti¬ 
ness. 

Prot.  True. 

Soc.  It  is  plain  then  that  it  is  left  for  the  soul  to  have  a 
perception,  by  means  of  memory,  of  repletion;  for  by 
what  means  could  the  soul  have  such  perception? 

Prot.  Nearly  by  none. 

Soc.  Learn  we  then,  what  follows  from  this  reasoning  ? 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  This  reasoning  shows  us  that  desire  is  not  produced 
from  the  body. 

Prot.  How  so? 


2  ±8 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  Because  it  shows  that  the  endeavor  of  every  animal 
is  opposed  to  its  sufferings. 

Prot.  Very  much  so. 

Soc.  Now  the  inclination,  leading  to  a  point  opposite  to 
the  sufferings,  indicate  somehow  the  remembrance  of  things 
opposite  to  those  sufferings. 

Prot.  Clearly. 

Soc.  The  reasoning  then,  having  shown  that  memory 
leads  to  the  things  desired,  discovers  the  general  inclina¬ 
tion  and  desire,  and  the  ruling  power  of  the  soul  in  every 
animal. 

Prot.  Most  correctly. 

Soc.  The  reasoning  then  proves  that  by  no  means  does 
our  body  thirst,  or  hunger,  or  suffer  any  of  such  affections. 

Prot.  Mosfrtrue. 

Soc.  Let  us  further  observe  likewise  this,  respecting 
these  very  same  things.  For  the  reasoning  appears  desir¬ 
ous  of  indicating  a  certain  kind  of  life  in  those  very  things. 

Prot.  In  what  things?  and  of  what  kind  of  life  are  you 
speaking  ? 

Soc.  I  mean  in  the  being  filled,  and  emptied,  and  in  all 
the  other  things,  which  relate  to  the  preservation  and  the 
destruction  of  animals ;  and  whether  one  of  us,  being  in 
either  of  these  states,  (at  one  time)  feels  pain  and  another 
pleasure,  according  to  the  changes  (of  circumstances).  , 

Prot.  It  is  so. 

Soc.  But  what  when  a  person  is  in  the  middle  of  them? 

Prot.  How  in  the  middle? 

Soc.  When  on  account  of  a  suffering  he  is  pained,  and 
yet  has  a  remembrance  of  pleasures  past,  a  part  indeed  of 
his  pain  ceases;  but  pleasant  things  have  not  been  filled  up 
at  that  time.  Shall  we  affirm,  or  deny,  that  he  is  in  the 
midst  of  two  contrary  states? 

Prot.  Let  us  affirm  it. 

Soc.  That  he  is  pained  or  pleased  wholly? 

Prot.  By  Zeus,  he  is  afflicted  by  some  double  pain ;  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  body,  by  his  suffering;  according  to  the  soul, 
by  a  certain  longing  from  an  expectation. 

Soc.  How,  Protarchus,  have  you  spoken  of  a  doubled 


PHILEBUS. 


240 


pain  ?  Is  it  not,  that  at  one  time  one  of  ns,  being  empty, 
is  in  the  clear  hope  of  being  tilled  ?  and  at  another  time,  on 
the  contrary,  is  in  a  hopeless  state  ? 

Prot.  Very  much  so. 

Soc.  Does  not  the  person,  who  hopes  to  be  filled,  seem  to 
you  to  feel  a  joy  through  the  recollection  (of  fulness)  ? 
and  yet,  being  empty,  at  the  same  time  to  be  in  pain? 

Prot.  He  must  be  so. 

Soc.  At  that  time,  then,  man  and  other  animals  are  at 
the  same  time  pained  and  pleased. 

Prot.  It  seems  so. 

Soc.  But  what,  when  a  person,  being  empty,  is  hopeless 
of  obtaining  repletion  ?  will  there  not  be  then  that  doubled 
state  respecting  his  pains,  on  which  you  just  now  looked, 
and  thought  it  was  simply  doubled. 

Prot.  Most  true,  Socrates. 

Soc.  How  of  this  inquiry  into  these  feelings  let  us  make 
this  use. 

Prot.  What  use? 

Soc.  Shall  we  say  that  these  pains  and  pleasures  are 
true,  or  false  ?  or  that  some  of  them  are  true,  and  others 
false  ? 

Prot.  But  how  can  pleasures  or  pains,  Socrates,  be  false  ? 

Soc.  How  then,  Protarchus,  could  fears  be  true  or  false  ? 
or  expectations,  true  or  not  ?  or  opinions,  true  or  false  ? 

Prot.  Opinions,  I  would  somehow  concede,  may  be;  but 
I  would  not  the  others. 

Soc.  How  say  you  ?  We  are  however  in  danger  of  rais¬ 
ing  up  a  disquisition  of  not  a  little  kind. 

Prot.  You  say  true. 

Soc.  But  whether  it  relates  to  what  has  passed  by,  0 
son  of  that  illustrious  father,  this  must  be  considered. 

Prot.  Perhaps  it  ought. 

Soc.  It  is  meet  then  to  bid  farewell  to  the  rest  of  the 
disquisition,  and  to  whatever  is  said  beside  the  purpose. 

Prot.  True. 

Soc.  Tell  me  then,  for  a  wonderment  ever  continuously 
seizes  me  respecting  those  very  doubts,  which  we  have  now 
brought  forward. 


250 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  How  say  you? 

Soc.  Are  not  (some)  pleasures  false,  but  others  true? 

Prot.  How  could  they  be? 

Soc.  Neither  then  is  there  a  dream  by  night  or  by  day  as 
you  hold,  nor  in  fits  of  madness  or  silliness  is  there  a  per¬ 
son,  who  thinks  he  is  pleased,  when  he  is  pleased  not  at  all ; 
nor  on  the  other  hand,  thinks  he  is  pained,  when  he  is  not 
pained. 

Prot.  All  of  us,  Socrates,  have  conceived  that  all  this  is 
the  case. 

Soc.  But  have  they  done  so  correctly  ?  Or  must  we  con¬ 
sider  whether  this  has  been  said  correctly  or  not  ? 

Prot.  We  must  consider,  as  I  would  say. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  define  still  more  clearly  what  was  just 
now  said  respecting  pleasure  and  opinion.  For  it  is 
surely  possible  for  us  to  hold  an  opinion? 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  to  feel  a  delight. 

Prot.  Yes. 

Soc.  Moreover  that  which  is  held  as  an  opinion,  is  some¬ 
thing. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  And  something  too  that,  th  which  the  thing  de¬ 
lighted  feels  a  delight. 

Prot.  Most  certainly. 

Soc.  The  thing  then  that  holds  an  opinion,  whether  it 
holds  the  opinion  rightly  or  not  rightly,  never  loses  the 
reality  of  holding  an  opinion. 

Prot.  For  how  could  it  ? 

Soc.  The  thing  therefore  that  feels  a  delight,  whether  it 
feels  a  delight  rightly  or  not  rightly,  it  is  evident  it  will 
never  lose  the  reality  of  feeling  a  delight. 

'Trot.  Certainly;  and  such  is  the  case. 

Soc.  In  what  manner  then  is  opinion  wont  to  be  to  us 
false  and  true ;  but  pleasure  only  true  ?  for  to  hold  an  opin¬ 
ion  and  to  feel  a  delight,  have  both  equally  received  the 
property  of  a  reality. 

Prot.  (This)  we  must  consider. 

Soc.  Is  it  that  falsehood  and  truth  are  incident  to  opin- 


PHILEBUS. 


251 


ion?  and  that  through  them  it  not  only  becomes  opinion, 
hut  also  of  what  kind  each  opinion  is  ?  Say  you  that  we 
must  consider  this? 

Prot.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  in  addition  to  this,  whether  some  things  are 
altogether  of  certain  qualities ;  but  that  only  pleasure  and 
pain  are,  what  they  are,  and  do  not  become  certain  qualities, 
must  we  agree  upon  this  point  likewise? 

Prot.  Plainly  so. 

Soc.  But  it  is  not  difficult  to  perceive  this,  that  they  too 
are  of  certain  qualities.  For  we  said  of  old,  that  pains  and 
pleasures  become  great  and  little,  and  each  of  them  vehe¬ 
mently  so. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  And  if  to  any  one  of  these  there  he  added  the  quality 
of  evil,  shall  we  not  say  that  opinion  has  thus  become  evil, 
and  pleasure  likewise  evil  ? 

Prot.  Why  not,  Socrates  ? 

Soc.  What  then,  if  rectitude,  or  the  opposite  to  rec¬ 
titude,  is  added  to  any  of  them,  shall  we  not  say,  that 
opinion  is  right,  if  it  possess  rectitude ;  and  say  the  same  of 
pleasure  ? 

Prot.  Necessarily  so. 

Soc.  But  if  what  is  held  as  an  opinion  be  mistaken  by 
us,  must  we  not  acknowledge  that  the  opinion  is  erroneous, 
and  not  right,  and  not  rightly  holding  an  opinion? 

Prot.  For  how  could  we  ? 

Soc.  But  what,  if  we  discover  (any)  pain  or  pleasure 
mistaken  about  that,  in  which  it  is  pained,  or  effected  con¬ 
trariwise,  shall  we  give  to  it  the  epithet  of  right,  or  good, 
or  any  other  of  honorable  appellations  ? 

Prot.  It  is  impossible,  if  pleasure  shall  have  been  mis- 

tcikcii 

Soc.  And  yet  pleasure  seems  often  to  be  produced  in  us, 
accompanied,  not  with  a  right  opinion,  but  with  a  false 

one.  . 

Prot.  How  not  ?  And  the  opinion,  Socrates,  m  that  case, 
and  at  that  time,  we  say  is  a  false  opinion ;  but  the  pleasure 
itself,  no  man  would  ever  call  it  false. 


252 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  You  very  readily,  Protarchus,  support  your  argu¬ 
ment  about  pleasure  on  the  present  occasion. 

Prot.  (I  do)  nothing  else  but  say  what  I  hear. 

Soc.  With  us,  my  friend,  makes  there  no  difference  the 
pleasure,  accompanied  with  right  opinion  and  science,  and 
that  which  is  often  produced  in  each  of  us,  accompanied 
with  a  false  opinion  and  ignorance. 

Prot.  It  is  probable  there  is  no  little  difference. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  come  to  the  view  of  the  difference  be¬ 
tween  them. 

Prot.  Lead  by  whatever  road  it  seems  good. 

Soc.  I  lead  then  by  this. 

Prot.  By  what? 

Soc.  We  say  there  is  a  false  opinion,  and  there  is  like¬ 
wise  a  true  one. 

Prot.  There  is. 

Soc.  Upon  them,  as  we  just  now  said,  pleasure  and  pain 
oftentimes  attend ;  I  mean,  upon  opinion  true  and  false. 

Prot.  Certainly  so. 

Soc.  From  memory  and  sensation  is  not  opinion  and  the 
attempt  to  hold  an  opinion  thoroughly  produced  on  every 
occasion  ?  / 

Prot.  Very  much  so. 

Soc.  Do  we,  then,  deem  it  necessary  for  us  to  have  our¬ 
selves  thus? 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  Would  you  say  that  it  often  happens  to  a  person 
looking  from  a  distance,  on  things  not  very  clearly  dis¬ 
cerned.  to  be  willing  to  form  a  judgment  of  them  ? 

Prot.  I  would  say  so. 

Soc.  Upon  this, 'would  not  the  person  question  himself 
thus  ? 

Prot.  How  ? 

Soc.  What  is  that,  which  appears  to  be  standing  under  a 
tree  by  the  cliff  there?  Does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  a 
person  would  speak  these  -words  to  himself,  looking  at  some 
such  things  as  perchance  appeared  to  him  ? 

Prot.  How  not?  .  . 

Soc,  Hereupon  would  not  such  a  person,  as  if  giving  an 


PHILEBUS.  253 

answer,  say  to  himself,  speaking  conjecturingly,  It  is  a 
man  ? 

Prot.  Certainty. 

Soc.  But.  carried  beside  (the  truth),  he  would  perhaps 
say  of  the  figure  clearly  discerned,  that  it  is  the  work  of 
some  shepherds. 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  if  any  one  were  present,  he  would  express  by 
his  voice  to  the  person  present,  what  he  had  said  to  him¬ 
self,  and  repeat  the  very  same  words;  and  thus,  what  we 
lately  termed  an  opinion,  becomes  a  speech. 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  But  if  he  were  alone,  thinking  continuously  within 
himself  upon  this  very  same  thing,  he  walks  on  keeping  it 
in  his  mind  sometimes  for  even  a  rather  long  period. 

Prot.  Assuredly. 

Soc.  Well  then,  does  that,  which  takes  place  respecting 
these  things,  appear  to  you  as  it  does  to  me? 

Prot.  What  is  it? 

Soc.  The  soul  in  that  case  seems  to  me  to  resemble  some 
book. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  The  memory  coinciding  with  our  sensations,  and 
those  affections  which  are  about  them,  seem  to  me  almost  at 
that  time  to  write  in  our  souls  speeches.  And  when  this 
suffering  writes  what  is  true,  there  result  from  it  true 
opinions,  and  true  speeches  are  produced  within  us;  but 
when  such  a  scribe  within  us  writes  what  is  false,  there 
results  what  is  contrary  to  the  truth. 

Prot.  So  it  seems  entirely  to  me ;  and  I  receive  what  has 
been  stated. 

Soc.  Admit  likewise,  that  there  is  another  workman 
existing  at  that  time  within  us. 

Prot.  Who  is  he  ? 

Soc.  A  painter,  who,  after  the  writer  of  what  has  been 
mentioned,  paints  of  such  things  the  representations  in  the 

soul. 

Prot.  How  and  when  say  we  this  person  does  so? 

Soc.  (It  is)  when  a  person,  having  taken  away  from 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


254 

sight,  or  from  any  other  sense,  what  have  been  imagined 
by  and  mentioned  (to  himself),  sees  somehow  within  him¬ 
self  the  representations  of  what  have  been  imagined  by 
and  spoken  (to  himself).  Or  does  this  not  take  place 
within  us? 

Prot.  (It  takes  place)  very  much  so. 

Soc.  The  representations  then  of  true  thoughts  and 
speeches  are  true ;  but  those  of  the  false  are  false. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  Now  if  we  have  spoken  thus  far  correctly,  let  us  still 
consider  in  addition  likewise  this. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  Whether  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  be  affected 
thus,  with  respect  to  things  present  and  past,  but  not  the 
future. 

Prot.  With  respect  to  all  time  in  a  similar  manner. 

Soc.  Were  not  the  pleasures  and  pains,  felt  by  the  soul 
alone,  asserted  before  to  be  such,  that  they  would  arise 
prior  to  those  felt  by  tne  body ;  so  that  it  happens  to  us  to 
feel  antecedently  pain  and  pleasure,  about  the  time  about  to 
be  produced? 

Prot.  Most  true. 

Soc.  Do  then  the  writings  and  the  pictures,  which  we 
laid  down  a  little  before,  as  being  produced  within  us,  have 
regard  to  the  past  and  present  time,  but  not  to  the  future  ? 

Prot.  Very  much  about  the  future. 

Soc.  Do  you  strongly  assert  that  all  these  things  are  ex¬ 
pectations  of  the  future ;  and  that  we  are,  through  a 
life,  full  of  expectations  ? 

Prot.  Entirely  so.  . 

Soc.  Now  then,  in  addition  to  what  has  been  said,  an¬ 
swer  this  likewise. 

Prot.  What  ?  "  .  ,  . 

Soc.  A  man  just,  and  pious,  and  entirely  good,  is  he  not 

god-loved  ? 

Prot.  How  not  ?  , 

Soc.  What  then,  is  not  a  man  unjust  and  entirely  wicked, 

the  reverse  of  the  other? 

Prot,  How  not? 


PHILEBUS. 


255 


Soc.  How  every  man,  as  we  said  just  now,  is  full  of 
many  expectations. 

Prot.  Why  not? 

Soc.  There  are  speeches  within  each  of  us,  which  we  call 

expectations. 

Prot.  Yes. 

Soc.  And  phantasies  also  are  painted  (in  us).  For  one 
often  sees  a  deal  of  money  belonging  to  himself,  and 
many  pleasures  in  addition  to  it,  and  he  views  himself 
painted  within  himself,  as  highly  delighted. 

Prot.  Why  not? 

Soc,  Of  these  phantasies,  shall  we  say  that  the  true  are 
painted  and  placed  before  the  good,  for  the  most  part,  on 
account  of  these  persons  being  god-loved,  but  the  contrary 
before  the  bad,  for  the  most  part?  or  shall  we  deny  it? 

Prot.  We  must  assert  it  strongly. 

Soc.  To  wicked  men,  then,  likewise  pleasures  a.re  present 
painted  within  them ;  but  these  are  of  the  false  kind. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Wicked  men,  therefore,  for  the  most  part  delight 
in  false  pleasures;  but  the  good,  in  the  true. 

Prot.  You  assert  what  is  most  necessary. 

Soc.  According  then  to  this  reasoning,  there  are  in  the 
souls  of  men  false  pleasures ;  imitating  however,  in  a  ridi¬ 
culous  way,  the  true ;  and  similar  is  the  case  with  pains. 

Prot.  There  are. 

Soc.  It  is  possible  then  for  a  person,  who  holds  upon 
every  thing  an  opinion,  to  hold  always  an  opinion  really 
¥  upon  things  which  are  not,  nor  have  been,  and,  sometimes, 
on  such  as  will  never  be? 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  And  these  are  they  that  effect  at  that  time  a  false 
opinion,  and  the  thinking  falsely.  Is  it  not? 

Prot.  Yes,  it  is. 

Soc.  Well  then,  must  we  not  attribute  in  return  to  pains 
and  pleasures  a  state  in  them  the  counterpart  of  that  in 
the  others  ? 

Prot.  How?. 

Soc.  That  it  is  possible  for  a  person,  who  feels  a  delight 


256 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


upon  everj’thing,  in  any  manner  whatever,  and  at  random, 
to  feel  always  really  a  delight,  not  only  from  things  which 
are  not,  and  sometimes  from  things  which  never  were,  but 
frequently  too,  and,  perhaps,  the  most  frequently,  from 
things  which  are  never  about  to  be? 

Prot.  This,  too,  must  of  necessity  be  the  case. 

Soc.  Would  there  not  be  the  same  reasoning  as  regards 
fears  and  desires,  and  all  things  of  that  kind,  that  all  such 
are  sometimes  false? 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Well  then,  can  we  say  of  opinions,  that  they  are  evil, 
[and  advantageous,]  any  otherwise  than  as  being  false? 

Prot.  Xot  otherwise. 

Soc.  And  pleasures,  T  think,  we  conceive  are  bad  on  no 
other  account,  except  bjr  their  being  false. 

Prot.  Tt  is  quite  the  contrary,  Socrates,  (to  what)  you 
have  said.  For  hardly  would  any  man  attribute  to  false¬ 
hood  that  pains  and  pleasures  are  very  evil,  but  that  they 
fall  in  with  wickedness  much  and  of  many-kind  by  some 
other  way. 

Soc.  Of  pleasures  that  are  evil,  and  are  such  through 
wickedness,  we  will  speak  shortly  afterwards,  if  so  it 
seem  good  to  us.  But  of  those  that  are  false  and  many  and 
oftentimes  existing  and  produced  in  us  in  yet  another  way, 
we  must  say  a  word.  For  perhaps  we  shall  make  use  of  it 
for  our  decisions. 

Prot.  How  not  ?  if  indeed  they  exist. 

Soc.  And  there  are  such,  Protarchus,  at  least  in  my 
opinion.  But  as  long  as  this  doctrine  lies  by  us  (unex¬ 
amined),  it  is  impossible  for  it  to  be  disproved. 

Prot.  Fairly  (said). 

Soc.  Let  us  then  stand  up,  like  combatants,  against  this 
reasoning. 

Prot.  Let  us  come  on. 

Soc.  We  said,  if  we  remember,  a  little  while  before,  that, 
when  wrhat  are  the  so-called  desires  remain  in  us,  the  body 
is  at  that  time  laid  hold  of  by  its  affections  in  two  ways, 
and  apart  from  the  soul. 

Prot.  We  remember;  (for)  so  it  was  said.  _ 


PHILEBUS. 


257 


Soc.  The  soul  therefore  was  that  which  desired  a  con¬ 
dition  contrary  to  that  of  the  body ;  but  that,  which  im¬ 
parted  any  pain  or  pleasure  through  any  circumstance,  was 
the  body. 

Prot.  It  was  so. 

Soc.  Now  reckon  together  what  takes  place  in  these. 

Prot.  Say  what. 

Soc.  It  takes  place  then,  when  such  is  the  case,  that  at 
the  same  time  pains  and  pleasures  lie  by  each  other’s  side ; 
and  that  at  the  same  time  the  sensations  respecting  these, 
being  contrary,  are  by  the  side  of  each  other  as  has  just 
now  appeared. 

Prot.  It  appears  so. 

Soc.  Has  not  this  also  been  said,  and  is  laid  down,  as 
having  been  agreed  upon  as  before  ? 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  That  pain  and  pleasure,  both  of  them  receive  “  the 
more  ”  and  “  the  less ;  ”  and  that  they  belong  to  the  limit¬ 
less. 

Prot.  It  has  been  said ;  what  then  ? 

Soc.  (There  is)  then  some  plan  for  judging  of  these  cor¬ 
rectly. 

Prot.  Where,  and  how? 

Soc.  Does  not  the  design  of  our  decision  respecting  them 
aim  at  distinguishing  them  on  each  occasion  by  such  marks 
as  these,  which  of  them  as  compared  with  each  other  is  the 
greater,  and  which  the  less;  and  which  is  more  and  which 
(less)  intense  pain,  as  compared  with  pleasure,  and  pain 
with  pain,  and  pleasure  with  pleasure? 

Prot.  Such  these  things  are,  and  such  is  the  design  of 
our  decision. 

Soc.  Well  now,  in  the  case  of  vision,  to  see  magnitudes 
far  off  and  near  causes  the  truth  to  disappear,  and  makes 
us  to  have  false  opinions.  And  does  not  the  very  same 
thing  happen  in  the  case  of  pains  and  pleasures? 

Prot.  Rather  much  more,  Socrates. 

Soc.  What  has  happened  now  is  surely  contrary  to  what 
occurred  a  little  before. 

Prot.  Of  what  are  you  speaking? 

17 


258 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


'l 

Soc.  In  that  case  the  opinions  themselves,  being  false  and 
true,  infected  at  the  same  time  pains  and  pleasures  with 
their  own  state  of  suffering. 

Prot.  Most  true. 

Soc.  But  now,  through  being  on  each  occasion  changed  iji 
position,  and  viewed  far  off  and  near,  and  at  the  same  time 
placed  by  each  other,  the  pleasures  appear  greater  and  more 
intense  as  compared  with  the  pains;  and  the  pains,  on  the 
other  hand,  compared  with  the  pleasures  (appear)  the  con¬ 
trary  to  those. 

Prot.  For  such  things  to  arise  through  such  means,  is  a 
matter  of  necessity. 

Soc.  As  far  therefore  as  each  appear  greater  and  less 
than  they  really  are,  if  you  cut  off  what  each  appears  to  be, 
but  is  not,  you  will  neither  say  that  it  appears  correctly, 
nor,  on  the  other  hand,  will  you  dare  to  say  that  the  addi¬ 
tional  part  of  pain  and  pleasure  is  correct  and  true. 

Prot.  By  no  means. 

Soc.  Next  then  in  order  after  these  we  will  look,  if  we 
can  meet  with  them  here,  upon  pleasures  and  pain  still 
more  false  than  those,  which  both  appear  to  be  and  are  in 
animals. 

Prot.  Of  what  are  you  speaking,  and  how? 

Soc.  It  has  been  often  said,  that  when  the  nature  of 
each  thing  is  being  destroj'ed  by  mixtures  and  separations, 
by  repletions  and  evacuations,  by  increase  and  decrease, 
pains,  and  aches,  and  throes,  and  everything  else  that  bear 
such-like  names,  do  happen  to  be  produced. 

Prot.  Yes.  this  has  been  said  frequently. 

Soc.  But  that  when  things  return  to  their  natural  state, 
we  have  received  this  recovery  as  a  pleasure  from  our¬ 
selves. 

Prot.  Right. 

Soc.  But  how  is  it,  when  none  of  these  things  shall  have 
taken  place? 

Prot.  When  could  this  be,  Socrates? 

Soc.  The  question,  Protarehus,  which  you  have  now 
asked  is  nothing  to  the  purpose. 

Pro t.  How  so? 


PHILEBUS.  259 

Soc.  Because  it  does  not  hinder  me  from  putting  again 
my  question  to  you. 

Prot.  What  question? 

Soc.  If  nothing  of  this  kind,  I  will  say,  Protarchus,  took 
place,  what  must  of  necessity  result  to  us  from  it? 

Prot.  Do  you  mean  when  the  body  is  not  moved  either 
way  ? 

Soc.  Exactly  so. 

Prot.  It  is  plain,  Socrates,  that  in  such  case  there  would 
be  neither  pleasure  nor  any  pain  at  all. 

Soc.  You  have  spoken  extremely  well.  But  I  supposb 
you  mean  this,  that  it  is  necessary  for  some  of  these  things 
to  happen  to  us  continually,  as  say  the  wise.  For  all  things, 
going  upwards  and  downwards,  are  in  a  perpetual  flow. 

Prot.  So  they  say  indeed,  and  seem  to  speak  not  badly. 

Soc.  For  how  should  they  (speak  badly),  not  being  bad 
themselves.  But  from  this  reasoning,  which  is  rushing 
against  us,  I  wish  to  secretly  withdraw.  I  design  then  to 
run  away  by  this  road ;  and  do  you  fly  with  me. 

Prot.  Say  by  what  road  ? 

Soc.  Let  us  say,  then,  to  these  wise  men,  “  Be  it  so.” 
But  do  you  give  an  answer  to  this — Whatever  any  animal 
suffers,  does  it,  while  suffering,  perceive  that  continually? 
and  neither  while  growing,  or  suffering  any  such  (change), 
are  we  unconscious  of  it  ?  or  is  it  quite  the  reverse  ?  for 
almost  everything  of  this  kind  has  lain  hid  from  us. 

Prot.  Quite  the  reverse. 

Soc.  That  therefore  which  was  just  now  said,  was  said  by 
us  not  correctly,  that  all  changes,  which  take  place  up  and 
down,  produce  pains  or  pleasures. 

Prot.  Why  not  ? 

Soc.  In  this  way  the  assertion  will  be  better,  and  less 
liable  to  censure. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  That  great  changes  produce  in  us  pains  and  pleas¬ 
ures;  but  the  moderate  and  trifling  neither  of  them  at 
all. 

Prot.  In  this  manner  it  is  more  correctly  said  than  in 
the  other,  Socrates. 


260 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  If  then  these  things  are  so,  the  life  mentioned  just 
now  would  come  back  again. 

Prot.  What  life? 

Soc.  That  which  we  said  was  without  pain  and  pleasures. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  truly. 

Soc.  From  hence  let  us  lay  down  for  ourselves  three 
kinds  of  life,  one  pleasant,  another  painful,  and  one 
neutral.  Or  how  would  you  say  respecting  them? 

Prot.  Not  otherwise  myself  than  in  this  way,  that  there 
are  three  kinds  of  life. 

Soc.  To  feel  no  pain  therefore  cannot  be  the  same  thing 
as  to  feel  a  pleasure. 

Prot.  How  can  it? 

Soc.  When  therefore  you  hear  that  to  live  through  all 
life  without  pain,  is  the  most  pleasant  of  all  things,  what 
do  you  understand  that  a  person  so  saying  means? 

Prot.  Such  a  person  seems  to  me  at  least  to  mean  that  it 
is  a  pleasure  not  to  feel  a  pain. 

Soc.  Of  any  three  things,  whatever  you  like,  existing, 
lay  down,  in  order  that  we  may  adopt  the  names  of  things 
rather  pretty,  one  gold,  another  silver,  and  another  neither 
gold  nor  silver. 

Prot.  It  is  so  laid  down. 

Soc.  Is  it  possible  for  that  which  is  neither,  to  become 
either  gold  or  silver? 

Prot.  (No)  ;  for  how  could  it? 

Soc.  The  middle  life  then  being  said  to  be  pleasant  or 
painful,  would  not  be  correctly  thought  to  be  so,  should  any 
so  think  it;  nor,  should  any  one  so  speak  of  it,  would  it  be 
so  spoken  of  according  at  least  to  a  correct  reasoning. 

Prot.  (No)  ;  for  how  could  it? 

Soc.  And  yet,  my  friend,  we  perceive  there  are  those, 
who  thus  speak  and  think. 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Do  then  those  persons  feel  pleasure  at  the  time, 
when  they  are  not  pained? 

Prot.  So  they  say. 

Soc.  They  think  therefore  they  are  pleased  then;  for 
otherwise  they  would  not  say  so. 


PHILEBUS. 


261 


Prot.  It  nearly  seems  so. 

Soc.  They  have  then  a  false  opinion  of  pleasure,  if  the 
natures  of  the  two  things,  to  be  not  pained  and  to  be 
pleased,  are  separate  from  each  other. 

Prot.  And  different  indeed  they  were. 

Soc.  Shall  we  choose  then  that  there  are,  as  (we  said) 
just  now,  three  things,  or  that  only  two  are  to  be  men¬ 
tioned.  pain,  an  evil  to  man,  and  deliverance  from  pain, 
a  pleasure,  as  being  the  good  itself. 

Prot.  How  is  it,  Socrates,  that  we  are  asked  this  by  our¬ 
selves  at  the  present  time?  for  I  do  not  understand. 

Soc.  In  fact,  Protarchus,  you  do  not  understand  who  are 
the  enemies  of  Philebus  here. 

Prot.  Whom  do  you  call  such? 

Soc.  They,  who  are  said  to  be  very  skilled  in  natural 
philosophy,  assert  that  pleasures  do  not  exist  at  all. 

Prot.  How  so? 

Soc.  (They  say)  that  all  those  things,  which  the  par¬ 
tisans  of  Philebus  call  pleasures,  are  but  escapes  from 
pain. 

Prot.  Do  you  then  advise  us,  Socrates,  to  hearken  to 
them  ?  or  how  ? 

Soc.  Not  so;  but  to  use  them  as  a  kind  of  diviners;  who 
divine  not  by  any  art,  but,  from  the  austerity  of  the  not 
ignoble  nature  of  those,  who  had  a  great  hate  of  the  power 
of  pleasure,  and  have  held  nothing  in  her  to  be  sound;  so 
that  her  attraction  is  merely  a  witchcraft  and  not  [true] 
pleasure.  In  this  way  then  we  should  use  them,  especially 
if  we  consider  their  other  austerities.  But  afterwards  you 
sliull  hear  what  seem  to  me  to  be  true  pleasures,  in  order 
that,  after  viewing  from  both  accounts  her  power,  we  may 
place  ourselves  (so  as  to  come)  to  a  decision. 

Prot.  You  speak  correctly. 

Soc.  Let  its  then  go  after  them,  as  our  allies,  along  the 
track  of  their  austerity.  For  I  suppose  they  assert  some 
such  thing  as  this,  beginning  from  some  point  above,  that, 
if  we  wish  to  know  the  nature  of  any  species  whatever  of 
things,  for  instance,  of  the  hard,  whether  by  looking  to 
the  hardest  things,  should  we  thus  better  understand  than 


2&2 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


to  those  endued  with  hardness  in  the  least.  Now,  Pro- 
tarchus,  you  must  give  an  answer,  as  if  to  myself,  to  these 
austere  persons  likewise. 

Prot.  By  all  means;  and  1  say  to  them,  that  (we  must 
look)  to  the  iirst  in  magnitude. 

Soc.  If  then  we  wish  to  know  the  genus  of  pleasure,  and 
what  kind  of  nature  it  has,  we  must  look  not  to  the  least, 
but  to  those  called  the  extreme  and  violent. 

Prot.  On  this  point  every  one  would  agree  with  you  for 
the  present. 

Soc.  Do  not  the  pleasures  then,  which  are  within  reach, 
and  still  more  the  greatest,  as  we  often  say,  belong  to  the 
body  ? 

Prot.  (Yes)  ;  for  how  not? 

Soc.  Are  then  the  pleasures,  which  exist  in,  and  are 
generated  about,  persons  in  bad  health,  greater  than  those 
about  persons  in  good  health?  Now  let  us  take  care, 
lest  we  stumble  by  answering  precipitately. 

Prot.  ITow  so? 

Soc.  For  perhaps  we  might  say  those  about  persons  in 
good  health. 

Prot.  Probably. 

Soc.  But  what,  are  not  those  pleasures  the  superior, 
which  the  strongest  desires  precede. 

Prot.  This  indeed  is  true. 

Soc.  But  do  not  both  they,  who  are  in  a  fever,  and  those 
afflicted  with  diseases  of  that  kind,  thirst  more,  and  shiver 
more,  and  suffer  more  all  that  persons  are  wont  to  do  in  the 
body,  and  are  more  conversant  with  the  want  of  those 
things,  in  which,  being  supplied,  they  feel  a  greater  pleas¬ 
ure?  Or  shall  we  deny  all  this  to  be  true? 

Prot.  It  appears  to  be  altogether  as  now'  stated. 

Soc.  What  then,  should  we  appear  to  speak  correctly  by 
saying,  that,  if  any  one  would  know  what  are  the  greatest 
pleasures,  he  must  not  go  and  look  upon  the  healthy,  but 
upon  the  sick?  But  be  careful  not  to  conceive  that  I  am 
designing  to  ask  you  this,  vhetheV  those  in  very  ill  health 
feel  more  pleasures  than  those  in  good  health;  bait  conceive 
that  I  am  inquiring  about  the  greatness  of  pleasure,  and 


PHILEBUS. 


263 


where  (and)  when  the  intensity  belonging  to  such  a  feel¬ 
ing  is  on  every  occasion  produced.  For  we  are  to  con¬ 
sider,  we  say,  what  is  the  nature  of  pleasure,  and  what  they 
call  it,  who  assert  that  it  does  not  exist  at  all. 

Prot.  But  I  nearly  follow  your  argument. 

Soc.  Perchance,  Protarchus,  you  will  show  it  not  the 
less.  For  answer  me — In  a  life  of  riot  do  you  see  greater 
pleasures — I  do  not  mean  more  in  number,  but  exceeding 
in  intensity  and  vehemence — than  those  in  a  life  of  tem¬ 
perance?  Give  your  mind  to  the  question,  and  tell 
me. 

Prot.  ISTay,  but  I  understand  what  you  mean;  and  I  see 
the  one  that  is  greatly  superior.  For  the  saying  that  has 
become  a  proverb,  and  which  exhorts  to  “  nothing  too 
much,”  on  every  occasion  restrains  somehow  the  temperate 
who  obey  it.  But  intense  pleasure  possesses  even  to  mad¬ 
ness  the  race  of  the  silly  and  riotous,  and  makes  them  in 
bad  repute. 

Soc.  Excellent.  For  if  this  be  the  case,  it  is  evident  that 
the  greatest  pleasures,  and  likewise  the  greatest  pains,  are 
produced  in  some  wickedness  of  the  soul  and  of  the  body, 
and  not  in  their  virtuous  state. 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Ought  then  one  not  to  select  some  of  the  pleasures, 
and  to  consider  what  condition  they  had,  when  we  called 
them  the  greatest? 

Prot.  It  is  necessary. 

Soc.  Consider  now  what  condition  have  the  pleasures 
arising  from  maladies  of  such  a  kind. 

Prot.  Of  what  kind? 

Soc.  The  unseemly;  which  they,  whom  we  called  the  aus¬ 
tere,  thoroughly  hate. 

Prot.  What  pleasures? 

Soc.  For  instance,  the  curing  the  itch  by  scratching,  and 
such  others  of  a  kind  as  need  no  other  remedy;  for  as  to 
this  affection,  forsooth,  what,  by  the  gods,  shall  we  call  it, 
pleasure  or  pain  ? 

Prot.  This,  Socrates,  seems  to  be  a  kind  of  mixed  evil. 

Soc.  It  was  not  however  for  the  sake  of  Philebus  that  I 


264 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


brought  forward  this  argument;  but  without  these  pleas¬ 
ures  and  those  that  follow  them,  unless  they  were  seen,  we 
should  have  scarcely  been  able  to  decide  upon  the  object 
of  the  present  inquiry. 

Prot.  We  must  then  proceed  to  such  as  have  an  affinity 
with  them. 

Soc.  Do  you  mean  those,  that  have  some  communion  by 
their  mixture? 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Of  these  mixtures  then,  some  belonging  to  the  body, 
are  in  the  bodies  alone;  others  belonging  to  the  soul  alone, 
are  in  the  soul ;  but  those  of  the  soul  and  body  we  shall  find 
to  be  pains  mixed  with  pleasures,  called  unitedly  at  one 
time  pleasures,  at  another  time  pains. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  When  a  person  in  a  restored  or  decaying  state 
suffers  at  the  same  time  two  contrary  affections,  (and) 
when  shivering  warms  himself,  and  sometimes  cools  him¬ 
self  when  heated,  seeking,  I  presume,  to  enjoy  the  one  and 
to  be  relieved  from  the  other,  the  so-called  sweet  mixed 
with  bitter  being  present  with  a  difficulty  of  deliverance 
causes  an  impatience,  and  a  fierce  standing  together. 

Prot.  And  very  true  is  what  has  been  now  said. 

Soc.  Are  not  the  mixtures  of  this  kind  composed  some 
of  pain  and  pleasure  in  equal  proportion,  and  others  of 
either  in  a  greater  one  ? 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  Say  then  that,  when  the  pains  are  more  than  the 
pleasures,  those,  which  have  been  just  now  mentioned,  be¬ 
long  to  the  itch  and  to  tinglings.  When  there  is  within 
that,  which  boils  and  is  inflamed,  and  a  person  by  rubbing 
and  scratching  does  not  reach  it,  but  only  diffuses  what  is 
on  the  surface,  then  those  inflaming  the  laboring  parts, 
and  by  that  very  thing,  through  the  want  of  remedies, 
changing  to  the  contrary,  at  one  time  they  procure  im¬ 
mense  pleasures,  at  another,  on  the  contrary,  from  the  in¬ 
ternal  parts  they  bring  to  the  pains  of  the  external  parts, 
pleasures  mixed"  with  pains,  according  as  a  thing  inclines 
this  way  or  that;  because  things  mixed  together  violently 


PHILEBUS.  265 

disjoin,  or  separated  violently  unite,  and  at  the  same  time 
place  pains  by  the  side  of  pleasures. 

Prot.  Most  true. 

Soc.  Hence,  when  on  the  other  hand  more  pleasure  is 
mingled,  according  to  all  such  things,  the  slightly-mingled 
portion  of  pain  tickles  and  causes  there  to  be  a  slight  un¬ 
easiness:  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  much  greater  pleas¬ 
ure  being  infused,  puts  on  the  stretch,  and  sometimes 
causes  to  leap,  and  working  out  all  kinds  of  color,  all  kinds 
of  posture,  and  all  kinds  of  breathings,  it  works  out  every 
stupor  and  exclamations  accompanied  with  madness. 

Prot.  Entirely  so. 

Soc.  And  it  causes,  my  friend,  a  person  to  say  of  him¬ 
self.  and  another  likewise  (to  say),  that,  delighted  with 
such  pleasures,  he  is,  as  it  were,  dying.  And  these  pleasures 
by  all  means  and  forever  is  he  pursuing,  so  much  the  more, 
as  he  happens  to  be  more  unrestrained,  and  less  prudent  ; 
and  he  calls  them  the  greatest,  and  reckons  him  the  hap¬ 
piest  of  men,  who  lives  the  most  in  them. 

Prot.  You  have  gone  through,  Socrates,  all  that  hap¬ 
pens  to  the  bulk  of  mankind,  according  to  their  own  esti¬ 
mate. 

Soc.  At  least,  Protarchus,  as  regards  the  pleasures  which 
are  in  the  common  affections  of  the  body  alone,  those  on 
the  superficies  and  the  body  having  been  mingled.  But 
with  regard  to  those  in  the  soul,  the  contrary  confer  with 
the  body,  both  pain  towards  pleasure,  and  pleasure  towards 
pain,  so  that  both  come  to  one  mixture ;  these  we  have  de¬ 
tailed  before,  as  when  (a  person),  on  the  other  hand,  is 
emptied,  he  desires  repletion,  but  being  emptied  he  is 
pained.  To  these  points  we  did  not  then  appeal  as  evi¬ 
dence;  but  vre  now  say,  that  in  all  those  cases,  infinite  in 
number,  where  the  soul  is  different  from  the  body,  one 
mixture  of  pain  and  pleasure  is  produced  and  comes  to¬ 
gether. 

Prot.  You  appear  nearly  to  speak  most  correctly. 

Soc.  There  is  then  among  the  mixtures  of  pain  and 
pleasure,  still  one  remaining. 

Prot .  Of  what  kind  are  you  speaking? 


2G6 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  The  mixture  which  we  said  the  soul  alone  oftentimes 
receives  from  itself. 

Prot.  How  then  do  we  say  the  same  thing  again  ? 

Soc.  Anger,  and  fear,  and  desire,  and  lamentation,  and 
love,  and  emulation,  and  envy,  and  all  other  such  passions, 
do  you  not  lay  down  these  as  certain  pains  of  the  soul 
alone  ? 

Prot.  I  do. 

Soc.  And  shall  we  not  find  these  very  passions  fraught 
with  boundless  pleasures?  Or  need  we  be  reminded  of 
that,  which  leads  a  very  prudent  person  to  be  harsh 
[through  his  passion  and  rage]  ; 

And  which  than  honey  dropping  is  more  sweet ;  (II.  xviii.  107.) 

and  that  in  our  lamentations  and  regrets,  pleasures  have 
been  mixed  up  with  pains? 

Prot.  No  (we  need  not).  But  in  this  way  and  in  no 
other  would  these  happen  to  be  produced. 

Soc.  And  do  you  not  remember  at  the  representations 
of  tragedies,  when  persons  weep  in  the  midst  of  joy? 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  And  have  you  perceived  the  disposition  of  your  soul 
during  a  comedy,  how  that  there  a  mixture  of  pain  and 
pleasure  is  found? 

Prot.  I  do  not  well  comprehend. 

Soc.  For  it  is  not  altogether  easy,  Protarchus,  at  such  a 
time,  to  understand  a  feeling  of  this  kind  in  every  case. 

Prot.  To  me  at  least  it  is  not  at  all  easy. 

Soc.  Let  us,  however,  lay  hold  of  it  so  much  the  more,  as 
it  is  the  more  obscure,  in  order  that  one  may  be  able  in 
other  cases  to  discover  more  easily  the  mixture  of  pain  and 
pleasure. 

Prot.  Say  on. 

Soc.  The  name  just  now  mentioned  of  envy,  will  you  set 
it  down  as  a  sort  of  pain  in  the  soul,  or  how  ? 

Prot.  Just  so. 

Soc.  And  yet  the  man  who  envies  will  plainly  appear  to 
be  delighted  with  the  evils  of  his  neighbors. 


PHILEBUS. 


267 


Prof.  Clearly  so.  - 

Soc.  Now  ignorance  is  an  evil;  and  so  is  the  condition 
which  we  term  stupidity. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  From  hence  perceive  what  is  the  nature  of  the 
ridiculous. 

Prot.  Do  you  only  tell  it. 

Soc.  A  certain  depravity  is  so  called,  in  a  few  words, 
after  some  habit.  But  of  the  total  depravity,  the  con¬ 
trary  is  that  affection,  which  is  mentioned  in  the  inscrip¬ 
tion  at  Delphi. 

Prot.  You  mean,  Socrates,  the  “  Know  thyself.*’ 

Soc.  I  do.  And  the  contrary  to  that  saying  would  be,  it 
is  plain,  if  mentioned  in  any  writing,  “  Not  to  know  one¬ 
self  in  any  respect  at  all.” 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  Try  now,  Protarchus,  to  divide  this  very  thing 
'(self-ignorance)  into  three  kinds. 

Prot.  How,  say  you?  for  I  shall  not  be  able  (to  do  it). 

Soc.  Do  you  say  that  I  must  make  this  division  for  the 
present  ? 

Prot.  I  say  it,  and  in  addition  to  saying,  I  request  you. 

Soc.  Is  it  not  necessary  then  for  each  of  those,  who  do 
not  know  themselves,  to  be  subject  to  this  condition  in  three 
ways  ? 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  First,  with  respect  to  property,  to  fancy  themselves 
wealthier  than  according  to  their  substance. 

Prot.  Many  persons,  truly,  there  are,  who  are  suffering 
this. 

Soc.  Yet  more  numerous  are  they,  who  fancy  themselves 
to  be  taller  and  more  handsome,  and,  in  all  the  things 
excelling,  that  relate  to  the  body,  beyond  the  real  truth 
itself. 

Prot.  Very  true. 

Soc.  But  the  most  numerous,  I  think,  have,  as  regards 
the  third,  kind  of  those  things  in  the  soul,  made  a  mistake, 
by  fancying  themselves  rather  virtuous,  although  not  being 


2G8 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  Greatly  so. 

Soc.  Among  the  virtues,  is  it  not  wisdom,  that  the  mul¬ 
titude  clutch  at,  through  being  full  of  contention,  and  of  a 
false  opinion  about  wisdom? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Should  any  one  then  say  that  all  such  feeling  is  an 
evil,  he  would  say  what  is  true? 

Prot.  Perfectly  so. 

Soc.  This  then,  Protarc-hus,  must  still  be  divided  into 
two  parts,  if  we  arc  about,  on  beholding  that  child-like 
envy,  to  see  the  strange  mixhire  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 

Prot.  How  then  shall  we  cut  them,  say  you? 

Soc.  All  such  as  foolishly  hold  this  false  opinion  of  them¬ 
selves,  it  necessarily  happens  that  upon  some  of  these,  as 
it  does  in  the  case  of  all  men  in  general,  strength  and 
power  follow ;  but  upon  others  the  reverse. 

Prot.  It  does  so  necessarily. 

Soc.  In  this  way  then  divide  them.  For  whoever  of 
them  are  accompanied  by  weakness,  and  being  such  are  un¬ 
able,  when  laughed  at,  to  revenge  themselves,  in  saying 
that  these  are  open  to  ridicule,  you  will  speak  the  truth. 
But  in  calling  those,  who  are  able  to  take  their  revenge, 
persons  to  be  dreaded,  and  powerful,  [and  hostile,]  you 
would  give  to  yourself  the  most  correct  account  of  them. 
For  ignorance,  accompanied  with  power,  is  hostile  and 
base;  for  it  is  hurtful  to  every  one,  both  itself  and  what¬ 
ever  are  its  likenesses.  But  ignorance,  without  power, 
has  obtained  the  rank  and  nature  of  what  is  an  object  of 
ridicule. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  correctly.  But  in  these  remarks 
the  mixture  of  pain  and  pleasure  is  not  to  me  very  ap¬ 
parent. 

Soc.  Understand  then  first  the  force  of  envy. 

Prot.  Only  tell  it. 

Soc.  There  is  an  unjust  pain  surely,  and  an  (unjust) 
pleasure? 

Prot.  There  is  so  of  necessity. 

Soc.  There  is  then  neither  injustice,  nor  envy,  in  re¬ 
joicing  at  the  ills  of  our  enemies. 


PHILEBUS. 


269 


Prot.  Certainly.  How  not? 

Soc.  But  sometimes,  on  beholding  the  ills  of  our  friends, 
to  feel  no  pain,  but  on  the  contrary,  a  pleasure,  is  not  an 
act  of  injustice? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Did  we  not  say  that  ignorance  was  an  evil  to  all? 

Prot.  Correctly  so. 

Soc.  (Shall  we  say)  that  the  false  notion  in  our  friends 
of  their  wisdom,  and  beauty,  and  of  whatever  else  we  men¬ 
tioned.  while  stating  that  they  belonged  to  three  kinds,  is 
an  object  of  ridicule  when  weak,  but  of  hatred  when  power¬ 
ful?  or  shall  we  deny,  what  I  just  now  said,  that  this 
habit  of  our  friends,  when  a  person  possesses  it  harmless  to 
others,  is  an  object  of  ridicule?  - 

Prot.  Yes,  very  much. 

Soc.  And  do  we  not  acknowledge  this^  (false  notion)  to 
be  an  evil,  as  being  ignorance  ? 

Prot.  Heartily. 

Soc.  Do  we  feel  pleasure  or  pain,  when  we  laugh  at  it? 

Prot.  It  is  plain  that  we  feel  pleasure. 

Soc.  Did  we  not  say,  that  it  is  envy,  which  produces  in 
us  pleasure  at  the  ills  of  our  friends? 

Prot.  It  must  be  (envy). 

Soc.  Our  reasoning  then  shows,  that,  when  we  laugh  at 
what  is  ridiculous  in  our  friends,  by  mixing  delight  with 
envy  we  mix  together  pleasure  and  pain.  For  envy  was 
acknowledged  long  ago  to  be  a  pain  to  the  soul,  but  laugh¬ 
ing  a  pleasure ;  but  in  these  cases  they  arise,  both  :  them, 
at  the  same  time. 

Prot.  True. 

Soc.  Our  argument  then  points  out,  that  in  laments  and 
songs  of  joy,  and  not  only  in  dramas,  but  in  the  whole 
tragedy  and  comedy  of  life,  and  in  a  ten-thousand  other 
cases,  pains  and  pleasures  are  mingled  together. 

Prot.  It  would  be  impossible,  Socrates,  for  a  man  not  to 
acknowledge  this,  were  he  ever  so  fond  of  dispute  against 
an  opposite  opinion. 

Soc.  We  have  proposed  (to  consider)  anger,  and  regret, 
and  lamentation,  and  fear  and  love,  and  jealousy  and  envy, 


270 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


and  such  other  passions,  in  which  we  said  we  should  find 
those  mixed  (feelings),  that  have  been  so  often  mentioned. 
Did  we  not? 

Prot.  Yes. 

Sue.  Do  we  understand  that  all,  which  relates  to  grief, 
and  envy,  and  anger,  has  been  now  despatched? 

Prot.  How  do  we  not  understand  ? 

Soc.  Is  there  not  much  yet  remaining? 

Prot.  Yes,  very  much. 

Soc.  On  what  account,  principally,  do  you  suppose  it 
was  that  I  explained  to  you  the  mixture  (of  feelings)  in  a 
comedy  ?  Was  it  not  from  a  belief,  that  it  was  easy  to  show 
the  mixture  in  fear,  in  love,  and  in  the  other  (passions)  ? 
and  that,  after  you  had  admitted  this  to  yourself,  it  would 
be  meet  to  dismiss  me,  and  by  no  longer  proceeding  to  the 
rest,  that  I  might  not  prolong  the  argument ;  but  that  you 
might  receive,  without  exception,  this  doctrine, — that  the 
body  without  the  soul,  and  the  soul  without  the  body,  and 
both  together  likewise,  are,  in  the  things  affecting  them, 
full  of  pleasure  mingled  with  pain.  Now  therefore  say 
whether  you  will  dismiss  me,  or  inake  it  midnight  (before 
I  finish).  But  I  imagine  that,  after  speaking  a  little  more, 
I  shall  obtain  from  you  my  dismissal.  For  of  all  these 
things  I  shall  be  willing  to  give  you  an  account  to-morrow ; 
but  at  present  I  wish  to  proceed  on  my  course  to  what  re¬ 
mains  towards  the  decision,  which  Philebus  enjoins. 

Prot.  Well  have  you  spoken,  Socrates ;  and  as  io  what  re¬ 
mains,  go  through  it  in  whatever  way  is  agreeable  to  your¬ 
self. 

Soc.  According  to  nature,  then,  after  the  mixed  pleas¬ 
ures,  we  will  proceed  in  turn  by  a  kind  of  necessity  to  the 
unmixed. 

Prot.  You  have  spoken  most  beautifully. 

Soc.  These  I  will  endeavor  in  turn  to  point  out  to  you. 
For  to  those,  who  assert  that  all  pleasures  are  but  a  cessa¬ 
tion  from  pain,  I  do  not  altogether  give  credit.  But,  as  I 
said  before,  I  make  use  of  these  persons  as  to  the  fact, — 
that  some  pleasures  seem  to  be,  but  are  by  no  means  so  in 
reality ;  and  that  some  others  appear  to  be  many  and  great, 


PHl'LEBUS. 


271 


but  are  mixed  up  with  pains,  and  a  cessation  from  the 
greatest  pains,  touching  the  difficulties  of  the  body  and  the 

soul. 

Prot.  But  what  pleasures  are  those,  Socrates,  which 
a  person,  deeming  to  be  true,  would  rightly  think  so  ? 

Soc .  Those  which  relate  to  what  are  called  beautiful 
colors,  and  to  figures,  and  to  the  generality  of  odors,  and 
to  sounds,  and  to  whatever  that  possesses  wants  unper¬ 
ceived,  and  that  without  pain  yields  a  repletion  perceived, 
and  pleasant,  (and)  unmixed  with  pain. 

Prot.  How,  Socrates,  speak  we  thus  again  of  these 
things  ? 

Soc.  What  I  am  saying  is  not,  indeed,  directly  obvious: 
I  must  therefore  try  to  make  it  clear.  For  I  will  endeavor 
to  speak  of  the  beauty  of  figures,  not  as  the  majority  of 
persons  understand  them,  such  as  of  animals,  and  some 
paintings  to  the  life,  but  as  reason  says,  1  allude  to  some¬ 
thing  straight  and  round,  and  the  figures  formed  from 
them  by  the  turner’s  lathe,  both  superficial  and  solid,  and 
those  by  the  plumb-line  and  angle-rule,  if  you  understand 
me.  For  these,  I  say,  are  not  beautiful  for  a  particular 
purpose,  as  other  things  are ;  hut  are  by  nature  ever  beauti¬ 
ful  by  themselves,  and  possess  certain  peculiar  pleasures, 
not  at  all  similar  to  those  from  scratchings;  and  colors 
possessing  this  form  beautiful  and  pleasures.  But  do  we 
understand?  or  how? 

Prot.  I  endeavor  (to  do  so),  Socrates;  but  do  you  en¬ 
deavor  likewise  to  speak  still  more  clearly. 

Soc.  I  say  then  that  sounds  gentle  and  clear,  and  send¬ 
ing  out  one  pure  strain,  are  beautiful,  not  with  relation 
to  another  strain,  hut  singly  by  themselves,  and  that  in¬ 
herent  pleasures  attend  them. 

Prot.  Such  is  indeed  the  fact. 

Soc.  The  kind  of  pleasures  arising  from  odors  is  less 
divine  than  those;  but  through  pains  being  not  of  neces¬ 
sity  mixed  with  them,  and  their  happening  to  be  produced 
for  us  by  any  means  and  in  any  thing,  I  lay  down  all  this 
as  opposed  to  those.  But,  if  you  observe,  these  are  two 
kinds  of  pleasures  spoken  of, 


272 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  I  do  observe. 

Soc.  To  these  then  let  us  still  add  the  pleasures  connected 
with  learning;  if  indeed  they  seem  to  us  not  to  have  a 
hunger  after  learning,  nor  pains  arising  at  the  commence¬ 
ment,  through  the  hunger  after  learning. 

Prot.  But  so  it  seems  to  me. 

Soc.  What  then  if  there  should  be  to  those,  who  have 
been  filled  with  learning,  losses  subsequently  through  for¬ 
getfulness,  do  you  perceive  any  pains  in  those  (losses)  ? 

Prot.  Not  naturally,  but  through  some  reasonings  re¬ 
specting  the  suffering,  when,  after  being  deprived,  a  person 
feels  a  pain  through  a  want. 

Soc.  At  present,  however,  blessed  man,  we  are  going 
through  the  feelings  arising  only  from  nature,  independent 
of  any  reasonings. 

Prot.  You  are  right  then,  in  saying,  that,  in  learning, 
a  forgetfulness  frequently  takes  place,  without,  any  pain 
to  us. 

Soc.  These  pleasures,  then,  of  learning,  we  must  say  are 
unmixed  with  pains.  But  by  no  means  do  they  belong  to 
the  majority  of  mankind,  but  to  the  very  few. 

Prot.  How  must  we  not  say  so  ? 

Soc.  Since,  then,  we  have  tolerably  well  distinguished 
between  the  pure  pleasures  and  those  which  are  almost 
rightly  called  impure,  let  us  [in  our  account]  attribute 
to  vehement  pleasures  immoderation ;  to  those  that  are  not 
so,  the  contrary  moderation;  and  those  that  admit  the 
great  and  the  intensely,  and  contrariwise  (the  little  and 
the  mildly),  such,  let  us  sav,  do  all  of  them  ever  belong  to 
the  limitless  genus,  namely,  the  more  and  the  less,  borne 
along  through  the  body  and  soul ;  but  that  those,  which  do 
not  admit  of  these  properties,  belong  to  the  moderate. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  correctly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Still  further,  in  addition  to  these,  we  must  look 
thoroughly  subsequently  into  this  belonging  to  them. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  What  it  is  meet  to  say  contributes  to  truth.  Is  it 
the  pure,  and  sincere,  and  sufficient,  or  the  violent,  and  the 
many,  and  the  much  ? 


PHILEBUS. 


273 


Prot.  What  do  yon  mean,  Socrates,  in  asking  this? 

Soc.  That  I  may  omit  proving  nothing  relating  to  pleas¬ 
ure  and  knowledge,  whether  in  either  of  them  a  part  is 
pure,  and  a  part  not  pure,  in  order  that  each  being  pure 
may  come  to  a  trial,  and  enable  myself  and  you  and  all 
these  here  to  form  a  decision  more  easily. 

Prot.  Most  correctly  (said). 

Soc.  Come  then,  let  us  consider  in  this  way  respecting 
all  the  kinds  which  we  say  are  pure;  (and)  having  first 
selected  some  one  from  among  them,  look  at  it  thoroughly. 

Prot.  What  then  shall  we  select  ? 

Soc.  Let  us  look,  if  you  will,  at  the  white  kind  amongst 
the  first. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  How  then,  and  what  would  he  the  purity  of  white? 
whether,  where  there  is  the  greatest  and  most,  or  where  it 
is  the  least  mixed  in  that  substance,  in  which  there  is  no 
portion  of  any  other  color? 

Prot.  Evidently,  where  it  is  the  most  sincere. 

Soc.  Rightly  (said).  Shall  we  then,  Protarchus,  not  lay 
down  this  as  the  truest,  and  at  the  same  the  most  beautiful 
of  all  whites;  but  not  that,  where  it  is  the  largest,  and 
most. 

Prot.  Most  correctly. 

Soc.  If  then  we  should  say,  that  a  little  of  pure  white  is 
more  white,  and  more  beautiful,  and  more  truly  white,  than 
a  great  quantity  of  mixed  white,  we  should  say  what  is 
entirely  correct. 

Prot.  Most  correctly. 

Soc.  Well  then,  we  shall  assuredly  be  not  wanting  in 
any  such  examples  in  favor  of  our  reasoning  respecting 
pleasure ;  but  it  is  sufficient  for  us  to  perceive  from  thence, 
that  in  the  case  of  pleasure  in  general,  a  portion  small  in 
size  and  little  in  quantity,  yet  unmixed  with  pain,  would  be 
more  sweet,  more  true,  and  more  beautiful,  than  a  por¬ 
tion  large  in  size,  and  great  in  quality,  (mixed  with 
pain) . 

Prot.  Greatly  so,  and  quite  sufficient  is  the  example. 

Soc.  But  what  is  one  of  this  kind?  Have  we  not  heard 

18 


274 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


respecting  pleasure,  that  it  is  a  thing  always  generating, 
and  that  of  pleasure  there  is  no  existence  at  all?  For  some 
clever  persons,  forsooth,  to  whom  we  owe  thanks,  attempt 
to  point  out  to  us  this  kind  of  reasoning. 

Prot.  What  is  it  ? 

Soc.  Shall  I  go  through  it  before  you,  friend  Protarchus, 
and  interrogate  you? 

Proi.  Only  tell  it,  and  interrogate. 

Soc.  There  are  some  two  things;  one  itself  by  itself;  the 
other  always  desirous  of  (something)  else. 

Prot.  How  say  you  this?  and  of  what  (are  you  speak¬ 
ing)  ? 

Soc.  The  one  is  by  nature  most  worthy  of  respect;  the 
other  falls  short  of  it. 

Prot.  Speak  a  little  more  clearly. 

Soc.  We  have  beheld  young  persons  beautiful  and  good, 
and  seen  their  admirers. 

Prot.  Often. 

Soc.  Similar  then  to  these  two  seek  two  others,  according 
to  all  those  things,  which  we  say  is  the  third  to  another. 

Prot.  State  more  plainly,  Socrates,  what  you  mean. 

Soc.  It  is  nothing  subtle,  Protarchus.  But  our  present 
argument  is  playing  with  us;  and  says,  that  of  things  ex¬ 
isting  one  thing  is  ever  for  the  sake  of  something;  and  the 
other,  for  the  sake  of  which  there  is  on  every  occasion  pro¬ 
duced  that,  which  is  produced  always  for  the -sake  of  some¬ 
thing. 

Prot.  I  scarcely  understand  you,  through  the  being  said 
oftentimes. 

Soc.  Perhaps,  however,  we  shall  better  understand,  boy, 
as  the  reasoning  proceeds. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Let  us  now  take  these  two  different  things. 

Prot.  Of  what  kinds? 

Soc.  The  generating  of  all  things  is  one  kind ;  the  exist¬ 
ence,  another. 

Prot.  I  acknowledge  these  two,  existence  and  generating. 

Soc.  Most  correctly.  Now,  which  of  these  shall  we  say 
is  for  the  sake  of  which  ?  Shall  we  say,  generating  is  for 


PHILEBUS.  275 

the  sake  of  existence,  or  existence  for  the  sake  of  genera¬ 
ting? 

Prot.  Are  you  now  inquiring  whether  that,  which  is 
called  existence,  is  what  it  is  for  the  sake  of  generating? 

Soc.  I  appear  so. 

Prot.  By  the  gods,  would  you  be  asking  me  in  addi¬ 
tion? 

Soc.  I  mean,  Protarchus,  something  of  this  kind.  Would 
.you  say  that  ship-building  exists  for  the-  sake  of  ships,  or 
ships  for  the  sake  of  ship-building?  and  whatever  things 
there  are  of  the  like  kind,  Protarchus,  I  mean  by  this  very 
(question). 

Prot.  Why  then,  Socrates,  do  you  not  give  an  answer  to  it 
yourself  ? 

Soc.  There  is  no  reason  why  not.  Do  you  however  take 
a  share  with  me  in  the  discourse. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc:  I  say  then,  that,  for  the  sake  of  generating,  medi¬ 
cines,  and  all  instruments,  and  all  matter  is  placed  by  the 
side  of  all;  but  that  each  act  of  generating  is  for  the  sake 
of  some  individual  existence,  one  for  one  kind  and  another 
for  another;  but  that  generating  taken  universally  is  for 
the  sake  of  existence  taken  universally. 

Prot.  Most  clearly. 

Soc.  Pleasure  then,  if  it  be  a  generating,  will  of  necessity 
he  for  the  sake  of  some  existence. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  How  that,  for  the  sake  of  which  the  thing  generated 
for  the  sake  of  something  would  be  always  generated,  is  in 
the  portion  of  the  good;  but  that  which  is  generated  for 
the  sake  of  any  thing,  must,  my  friend,  be  placed  in 
another  portion. 

Prot.  It  is  most  necessary. 

Soc.  If  then  pleasure  be  a  generating,  shall  we  not  in 
placing  it  in  an  allotment  different  from  that  of  the  good, 
correctly  place  it? 

Prot.  Most  correctly. 

Soc.  Hence,  as  I  said  at  the  beginning  of  this  argument, 
we  owe  many  thanks  to  the  person,  who  pointed  out,  re- 


276 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


specting  pleasure,  that  it  is  a  generating,  but  that  its  ex¬ 
istence  is  not  anjr  thing  whatever.  For  it  is  plain  that  this 
person  would  laugh  at  those  who  assert  that  pleasure  is  a 
good. 

Trot.  Yer\r  heartily. 

Soc.  And  this  very  same  person  would  certainly  on  every 
occasion  laugh  at  those,  who  place  their  ultimate  end  in 
gcneratings. 

Trot.  How,  and  what  kind  of  men,  do  you  mean? 

Soc.  Such  as  those  curing  hunger  or  thirst,  or  any  of 
such  things  as  by  generating  cures  are  delighted  on  account 
of  generating  being  a  pleasure ;  and  who  declare  they  would 
not  choose  to  live  without  being  thirsty  and  hungry,  and 
suffering  those  other  things,  which  one  might  mention  as 
following  such  kinds  of  feelings. 

Trot.  They  are  likely  (to  do  60). 

Soc.  Would  not  all  of  us  say  that  destruction  is  the  con¬ 
trary  of  generation? 

Trot.  It  is  of  necessity  so. 

Soc.  Whoever  then  chooses  this,  would  choose  destruction 
and  generation,  but  not  that  third  life,  in  which  it  is  pos¬ 
sible  for  a  person  to  be  neither  pleased  nor  pained,  but  to 
have  thoughts  the  purest  possible.  - 

Trot.  Much  absurdity,  as  it  seems,  Socrates,  would  re¬ 
sult,  should  any  one  lay  down  that  pleasure  is  a  good. 

Soc.  Much ;  since  let  us  discourse  still  in  this  way. 

Trot.  In  what? 

Soc.  How  is  it  not  absurd  for  nothing  good  or  beautiful 
to  exist,  neither  in  the  body  nor  in  many  other  things,  ex¬ 
cept  in  the  soul,  and  there  only  pleasure;  and  that  neither 
fortitude,  nor  temperance,  nor  mind,  nor  any  of  the  good 
things,  which  the  soul  has  obtained  by  lot,  should  exist  of 
that  kind?  And  still  in  addition  to  this,  that  the  person 
not  delighted,  but  in  pain,  should  be  compelled  to  say.  that 
he  is  then  wicked,  when  he  is  in  pain,  although  he  be  the 
best  of  all  men;  and  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  person 
delighted  excels  in  virtue  so  much  the  more,  as  he  is  the 
more  delighted  then,  when  he  is  delighted. 


PHILEBTJS.  277 

Prot.  All  these  suppositions,  Socrates,  are  absurdities, 
the  greatest  possible. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  not  endeavor  to  make  an  examination 
of  pleasure  at  all ;  nor  appear  to  be,  as  it  were,  very  chary 
of  mind  and  science';  but  let  us  spiritedly  strike  every 
thing  all  round,  if  perchance  it  gives  a  cracked  sound,  until 
coming  to  the  view  of  that,  which  is  naturally  the  most 
free  from  a  flaw,  we  may  use  it  for  our  decision,  suited 
alike  both  to  the  truest  parts  c it  these  and  of  pleasure  like¬ 
wise. 

Prot.  Eightly  (said). 

Soc.  Is  there  not,  I  think,  one  part  of  the  sciences  rela¬ 
ting  to  learning  in  general,  connected  with  handicraft 
trades,  and  another  with  instruction  and  nurture  ? 

Prot.  It  is  so. 

Soc.  Now  in  the  manual  arts,  let  us  consider,  first, 
whether  there  is  one  part  more  closely  connected  with 
science,  and  another  part  less  so ;  and  whether  it,  is  meet 
to  reckon  the  former  as  the  most  pure,  but  the  latter  as 
the  most  impure. 

Prot.  It  is  meet. 

Soc.  We  must  therefore  take  the  leading  arts  apart  from 
each  individual  one. 

Prot.  What  arts?  and  how? 

Soc.  As  if  a  person  should,  for  example,  separate  from 
all  arts,  arithmetic,  and  mensuration,  and  weighing,  the 
remainder  of  each  would  become,  so  to  say,  inconsider¬ 
able. 

Prot.  Inconsiderable  indeed. 

Soc.  For  after  these  there  would  be  left  for  those  only 
to  conjecture,  and  to  exercise  the  senses  by  experience  and 
practice,  who  by  making  use  of  the  power  of  guessing, 
which  the  many  "call  art,  have  worked  out  their  strength  by 
assiduity  and  labor. 

Prot.  You  say  what  is  most  necessarily  (true). 

Soc.  In  the  first  place, (is  not)  the  musical  art  full  (of 
conjecture),  while  adapting  the  harmony  not  by  (a  fixed) 
measure,  but  by  practice?  and  of  it  taken  universally  (do 
not)  hautboy-playing  (and  harp-playing)  hunt  out  the 


278 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


measure  suited  to  each  by  the  aid  of  (a  mouth-piece  and) 
string  through  guessing  merely,  so  that  it  has  a  great  deal 
mixed,  which  is  not  very  certain,  and  only  a  little,  that  is 
sure. 

Prot.  Very  tnie. 

Soc.  Moreover  we  shall  find  that  the  medical,  and  agri¬ 
cultural,  and  naval,  and  military  arts  are  in  a  similar  con¬ 
dition. 

Prot.  Very  much  so. 

Soc.  But  the  art  of  building  (we  shall  find),  I  think, 
making  use  of  very  many  measures  and  instruments ;  which, 
giving  to  it  great  accuracy,  make  it  more  scientific  than  the 
majority  of  arts. 

Prot.  How  so? 

Soc.  So  too  in  ship-building,  and  house-building,  and 
in  many  other  works  of  carpentry.  For  in  these,  I  think, 
(the  art)  uses  the  straight  rule,  and  the  turning-lathe, 
and  the  compass,  and  .he  plumb-line,  and  the  marking¬ 
line,  and  the  level  properly  formed. 

Prot.  You  say  very  correctly,  Socrates. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  place  the  arts  so  called  into  two  kinds; 
some  following  music,  (and)  possessing  in  their  works  a 
less  share  of  accuracy ;  others,  building,  possessing  a  larger 
share. 

Prot.  Let  them  be  so  placed. 

Soc.  And  of  these  arts,  that  those  are  the  most  accurate 
which  we  lately  said  were  the  prime  (or  leading). 

Prot.  You  seem  to  me  to  be  speaking  of  arithmetic,  and 
those  other  arts,  which  together  with  it  you  mentioned  just 
now. 

Soc.  Just  so.  But.  Protarehus,  must  we  not  say  that 
each  of  these,  again,  is  twofold  ?  or  how  ? 

Prot.  What  arts  do  you  mean  ? 

Soc.  Must  we  not  say,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  arith¬ 
metic  of  the  many  is  of  one  kind,  but  that  of  pliilosophers 
another  ? 

Prot.  By  dividing  in  what  way,  can  a  person  lay  down 
the  one  and  the  other? 

Soc.  The  boundary,  Protarehus,  is  not -trifling.  For  of 


PHILEBUS. 


279 


the  things  relating  to  number,  the  many  calculate  by  un¬ 
equal  units ;  as  two  armies,  two  oxen,  two  things  the  small¬ 
est,  or  two  the  greatest  of  all  things.  But  philosophers 
could  not  follow  them,  unless  a  person  should  lay  down  an 
unit,  differing  in  no  respect  from  each  of  the  units  in  ten 
thousand. 

Prot.  Indeed  you  say  very  correctly  that  there  is  no 
little  difference  amongst  those,  who  occupy  themselves  in 
arithmetic;  so  as  to  make  it  reasonable  that  there  are  two 
kinds. 

Soc.  And  what  of  calculation  in  trade,  and  of  mensura¬ 
tion  in  building?  (Do  these  differ)  from  the  geometry 
and  the  calculations  made  by  students  in  philosophy? 
Shall  we  say  that  each  of  them  is  one  art?  or  shall  we 
set  down  each  as  two? 

Prot.  Following  out  the  preceding  remarks,  I  should, 
according  to  my  vote,  lay  down  that  each  of  these  is  two. 

Soc.  Correctly  so.  But  do  you  understand  for  what 
reason  we  have  brought  forward  these  matters  between  us  ? 

Prot.  Perhaps  I  do.  But  I  would  wish  yourself  to  lay 
open  the  question  just  asked. 

Soc.  To  me  at  least  then  this  reasoning  seems  no  less, 
than  when  we  commenced  detailing  it  by  seeking  something 
the  counterpart  to  pleasures,  to  have  reached  to  that 
noint,  where  it  is  possible  to  consider  what  science  is  more 
pure  than  another  science,  as  (one)  pleasure  (was  more 
so  than  another)  pleasure. 

Prot.  This  at  least  is  very  clear,  that  it  attempted  those 
things  for  the  sake  of  these. 

Soc.  What  then,  has  it  discovered,  in  what  has  gone 
before,  that  over  others  one  art  is  clearer  than  another, 
and  one  less  clear  than  another? 

Prot.  Entirely. 

Soc.  And  has  not  in  these  instances  the  reasoning,  after 
speaking  of  some  art,  of  the  same  name  (as  another),  led 
to  the  opinion  of  both  being  one;  and  does  it  not  then 
inquire,  as  if  being  two,  their  clearness  and  purity,  whether 
the  opinion  of  those  who  philosophize,  or  those  who  do  not, 
is  the  more  accurate  respecting  them  ? 


2S0 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  And  it  appears  to  me  to  make  this  inquiry  very 
correctly. 

Soc.  What  answer  then,  Protarclms,  shall  we  give  it  ? 

Prot.  To  a  wonderful  extent  of  difference  have  we,  Soc¬ 
rates,  arrived,  touching  a  clear  view  of  the  sciences. 

Soc.  We  shall  therefore  answer  more  easily. 

Prot.  How  not  ?  And  let  it  be  said,  that  these  (leading) 
arts  differ  greatly  from  the  others;  and  that  from  these 
themselves  differ  those,  which  engage  the  exertions  of  per¬ 
sons  philosophizing  really  with  accuracy  and  truth  on  the 
subject  of  measures  and  numbers. 

Soc.  Let  this  be  according  to  your  views;  and  trusting 
to  you,  let  us  boldly  give  an  answer  to  those,  who  are 
terrible  in  tearing  arguments  to  pieces. 

Prot.  Of  what  kind  ? 

Soc.  That  there  are  two  kinds  of  arithmetic,  and  two  of 
mensuration,  and  many  others  of  the  same  kind,  following 
rhese  and  possessing  this  duality,  but  having  one  name  in 
common. 

Prot.  Let  us,  Socrates,  with  good  luck  give  to  those, 
whom  you  say  are  terrible,  that  very  answer. 

Soc.  Do  we  then  affirm,  that  these  sciences  are  the  most 
accurate. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  But  the  dialectic  power,  Protarchus,  would  repu¬ 
diate  us,  if  we  preferred  any  other  science  to  hers. 

Prot.  Whom  must  we  call  by  that  name? 

Soc.  Plainly,  Protarchus,  her,  who  perceives  all  the 
(knowledge)  just  now  mentioned.  For  I  am  entirely  of 
opinion,  that  all  persons,  to  whom  even  a  small  particle 
of  mind  has  been  apportioned,  must  deem  the  knowledge, 
which  relates  to  the  really  existing,  and  that  which  is  ever 
by  nature  according  to  the  same,  to  be  by  far  the  most  true 
notion.  But  what  and  how  would  you,  Protarchus,  de¬ 
cide? 

Prot.  I  have  often,  Socrates,  heard  from  Gorgias  on  each 
occasion,  that  the  art  of  persuasion  excels  by  much  all 
other  arts.  For  it  would  make  all  things  its  slaves  will¬ 
ingly,  and  not  by  violence ;  and  therefore  it  would  be  of  all 


PHILEBUS. 


281 


arts  by  far  tlie  best.  Now  I  should  not  be  willing  to  lay 
down  what  is  opposed  to  you  or  him. 

Soc.  You  seem  to  me  to  say  that,  having  wished  for 
arms,  you  are  ashamed  of  having  deserted  them. 

Prot.  Let  these  matters  be  in  the  place,  where  it  seems 
good  to  you. 

Soc.  Am  I  the  cause  of  your  not  correctly  understand¬ 
ing? 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  I  did  not,  friend  Protarchus,  inquire  this — what 
art  or  what  science  is  superior  to  all,  by  its  being  the  great¬ 
est,  and  best,  and  benefiting  us  the  most;  but  what  is 
that,  which  looks  upon  the  clear,  the  accurate,  and  the  most 
true,  although  it  may  be  little  and  benefit  but  little.  This 
it  is  which  we  are  now  seeking.  Look  to  it.  For  you  will 
not  become  hateful  to  Gorgias,  if  you  allow  his  art  to  be 
of  use  to  the  ruling  of  mankind,  but,  what  I  just  now 
said,  to  the  busy  occupation,  as  I  then  said  respecting 
white,  that  if  there  be  a  little  but  pure,  it  excels  a  large 
quantity  that  is  not  such,  by  the  very  circumstance  of  its 
being  the  most  true.  xAnd  now,  having  thought  greatly 
upon  this,  and  reasoned  about  it  sufficiently,  and  looking 
to  neither  the  utility  of  sciences  nor  to  their  high  repute, 
but,  if  there  be  any  power  inherent  in  our  soul  to  love 
the  truth,  and  for  its  sake  to  do  everything,  of  this  let 
us  speak;  and  having  thoroughly  searched  out  the.  purity 
of  mind  and  intellect,  let  us  seek  whether  we  can  say  that 
in  all  probability  we  possess  this,  or  any  other  power  more 
powerful  than  this. 

Prot.  Nay,  I  do  consider,  and  I  think  it  is  difficult  to 
admit  that  any  other  science  or  art  lays  hold  of  truth  more 
than  this. 

Soc.  Have  you  said  what  you  have  said  now,  after  per¬ 
ceiving  something  of  this  kind,  that  the  majority  of  arts, 
and  such  as  busy  themselves  about  matters  here,  make  use 
in  the  first  place  of  opinions,  and  with  the  mind  on  the 
stretch  are  in  search  of  uThat  relates  to  opinions ;  and  if  a 
person  thinks  fit  to  pry  into  the  phenomena  of  Nature, 
you  know  that  through  life  he  merely  searches  into  the 


2S2 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


matters  relating  to  this  world,  how  it  has  been  produced, 
and  in  what  way  it  suffers,  and  in  what  way  it  acts.  Shall 
we  say  this,  or  how  ? 

Prot.  Thus. 

Soc.  Such  a  person  then  has  undertaken  this  study,  not 
about  the  things  which  exist  always,  but  about  those  that 
are  in  the  course  of  being,  and  will  be,  and  have  been. 

Prot.  Most  true. 

Soc.  What  clearness  then  can  we  say  exists  in  truths 
the  most  exact  respecting  those  things,  not  one  of  which 
has  possessed  ever,  or  will  possess,  or  possesses  at  present, 
the  state  of  saneness  ? 

Prot.  How  can  we? 

Soc.  How  then  respecting  things,  which  do  not  possess 
any  stability  whatever,  can  there  be  anything  stable  in 

us? 

Prot.  By  no  means,  I  imagine. 

Soc.  Nor  is  there  mind,  nor  any  knowledge  possessing 
the  greatest  truth  respecting  them. 

Prot.  It  is  probable  there  is  not? 

Soc.  We  ought  then,  both  you  and  I,  to  leave  and  bid 
farewell  frequently  to  Gorgias  and  Philebus,  and  in  our 
reasoning  to  appeal  to  this  as  a  testimony. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  That  there  either  is  respecting  those  matters  the 
stable,  and  the  pure,  and  the  true,  and  what  we  lately  called 
the  immaculate,  as  regards  the  things,  which  have  the 
property  of  existing  ever  in  the  same  manner,  and  similarly 
perfectly  unmixed;  or  secondly,  whatever  has  the  most 
affinity  with  them ;  but  that  of  all  the  rest  we  must  speak 
as  secondary  and  subsequent. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  truly. 

Soc.  With  respect  then  to  things  of  this  kind,  is  it  not 
most  just  to  give  the  most  beautiful  names  to  things  the 
most  beautiful? 

Prot.  It  is  at  least  reasonable. 

Soc.  Are  not  mind  and  intellect  and  wisdom  the  names 
which  a  person  would  hold  in  the  highest  honor? 

Prot.  Yes. 


PHILEBUS. 


283 


Soc.  These  then,  after  having  been  formed  accurately, 
may  be  correct!}"  given  to  the  notions  conversant  about  the 
things  really  existing. 

Prot.  Perfectly. 

Soc.  And  the  things,  which  I  formerly  brought  for  our 
decision,  are  not  other  than  these  names. 

Prot.  How  not,  Socrates? 

Soc.  Be  it  so.  If  then  a  person  were  to  say  that,  what 
relates  to  intellect  and  pleasure,  touching  their  mutual 
mixture,  is  placed  before  us,  as  before  workmen,  from  which 
or  in  which  th  oust  fabricate  something,  he  would 
make  a  compar  able  to  our  discourse. 

Prot.  Very  much  so. 

Soc.  Must  we  not  in  the  next  place  attempt  to  mix  them  ? 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Would  it  not  be  best  to  mention  beforehand,  and 
call  to  remembrance  things  of  this  kind? 

Prot.  Of  what  kind? 

Soc.  Those  we  have  mentioned  before.  For  the  proverb 
seems  to  be  well,  “  Twice  and  thrice  what  is  well  to  turn 
over  ”  in  our  discourse  is  meet. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  Come  then,  by  Zeus ;  for  I  think  that  what  has  been 
stated  previously,  was  said  in  this  wise. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  Philebus  affirms  that  pleasure  has  been  established 
as  the  proper  aim  for  all  animals,  and  that  all  persons  ought 
to  aim  at  it ;  that  this  very  thing  is  to  all  universally  the 
good ;  and  that  the  two  terms  “  good  ”  and  “  pleasant  ”  have 
been  correctly  assigned  to  one  thing  and  to  one  nature. 
But  Socrates  denies  this;  and  (says)  that  in  the  first  place 
the  things  are,  like  the  terms,  two;. and  secondly,  that  the 
good  and  the  pleasant  possess  a  nature  different  from  each 
other;  and  that  intellect  partakes  in  a  share  of  the  good 
more  than  pleasure  does.  Is  not  this  now,  and  was  it  not 
then,  stated  so,  Protarchus? 

Prot.  Strongly  so. 

Soc.  And  was  not  this  (agreed  upon)  then,  and  should 
we  not  agree  upon  it  now? 


284  TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  That  the  nature  of  the  good  differs  from  the  rest 
of  things  in  this? 

Prot.  In  what? 

Soc.  That  whatever  animal  possesses  it  forever,  perfectly, 
and  under  all  circumstances  of  time  and  place,  such  a  being 
has  no  want  of  anything  beside,  but  has  what  is  sufficient 
and  most  complete.  Is  it  not  so? 

Prot.  It  is  so. 

Soc.  Have  we  then  not  endeavored  in  this  discourse,  by 
placing  each  apart  from  each  as  regards  the  life  of  each, 
(to  leave)  pleasure  unmixed  with  intellect,  and  in  like 
manner  intellect  possessing  not  the  smallest  particle  of 
pleasure  ? 

Prot.  It  is  so. 

Soc.  Did  either  of  those  (lives)  seem  to  us  at  that  time 
to  be  sufficient  for  any  person  ?  , 

Prot.  How  could  it? 

Soc.  But  if  at  that  time  we  were  carried  in  any  respect 
beside  the  mark,  let  any  person  whatever,  taking  up  again 
the  subject,  say  what  is  more  correct,  laying  down  that 
memory,  and  intellect,  and  science,  and  correct  opinion 
belong  to  the  very  same  species,  and  considering  whether 
any  one  would  without  those  choose  that  anything  what¬ 
ever  should  happen  to  him,  much  less  pleasure,  be  it  the 
greatest'  in  quantity  and  most  intense  in  kind,  provided 
he  had  neither  a  true  conception  of  being  delighted,  nor 
knew  at  all  by  what  things  he  was  affected,  nor  had  a  recol¬ 
lection  of  the  circumstance  for  any  period  whatever.  And 
let  him  say  the  same  respecting  intellect  likewise,  whether 
any  one  would  choose  without  all  pleasures,  or  even  the 
least,  to  possess  intellect,  rather  than  with  some  pleasures, 
or  all  pleasures  without  intellect,  rather  than  with  some  in¬ 
tellect. 

Prot.  There  is  no  one,  Socrates.  And  there  is  no  need 
to  ask  these  questions  frequently. 

Soc.  Neither  one  of  these  then  would  be  the  perfect, 
and  all-eligible,  and  consummate  good, 

Prot,  For  how  could  it  ? 


PHILEBUS. 


285 


Soc.  This  good  then  we  must  comprehend  clearly,  or  at 
least  some  form  of  it,  in  order  that  we  may  have  some¬ 
thing  to  give  the  second  prize. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  correctly. 

Soc.  Have  we  not  taken  then  some  kind  of  road  to  the 
good  ? 

Prot.  What  road  ? 

Soc.  As  if  a  person  in  search  of  another  should  first 
hear  of  his  dwelling  [where  he  resides],  he  would  surely 
have  something  great  towards  the  discovery  of  the  person 
sought. 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  And  now  a  reasoning  has  pointed  out  to  us,  as  at 
the  commencement,  not  to  seek  the  good  in  the  unmixed 
life,  but  in  the  mixed  one. 

Prot.  Entirely  so. 

Soc.  There  is  moreover  a  hope  that  the  thing  sought  for 
will  be  more  conspicuous  in  the  mixed  than  in  the  not 
mixed. 

Prot.  Much  more. 

Soc.  Let  us  then,  Protarchus,  make  a  mixing  after  pray¬ 
ing  to  the  gods ;  whether  Dionysus,  or  Hephaestus,  or  what¬ 
ever  else  of  the  gods,  has  obtained  by  lot  the  honor  (of 
presiding  over)  the  mixing. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  And  now,  to  us,  as  it  were  to  butlers,  stand  (two) 
fonts;  the  one  of  pleasure  a  person  might  guess  to  be  of 
honey ;  but  that  of  intellect,  hard  and  healthful,  sober  and 
wineless,  to  be  of  water;  which  let  us  be  ready  to  mix  to¬ 
gether  in  the  best  manner  we  can. 

Prot.  How  not? 

Soc.  Come  then  (and  say)  whether  by  mingling  all  pleas¬ 
ure  with  all  intellect  we  may  in  the  best  way  obtain  the 
doing  it  well. 

Prot.  Perhaps  so. 

Soc.  But  it  is  not  safe.  But  how  we  may  make  a  mixing 
with  less  danger,  I  seem  to  myself  to  be  able  to  put  out 
a  notion. 

Prot.  Say  what. 


286 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  There  was  formerly,  as  we  truly  thought,  one  pleas¬ 
ure  more  pure  than  another;  and  one  art  more  accurate 
than  another. 

Prot.  Undoubtedly  so. 

Soc.  One  science  too  differs  from  another;  one  in  looking 
to  things  that  are  produced  and  perish;  another  to  things 
which  are  neither  produced  nor  perish,  but  exist  with 
the  properties  of  the  same,  the  similar,  and  the  eternal. 
And  looking  to  the  truth,  we  deemed  this  science  to  be 
more  true  than  the  other. 

Prot.  Very  correctly  so. 

Soc.  If  then,  in  the  first  place,  after  having  mixed  to¬ 
gether  the  truest  particles  of  each,  when  we  look  upon  them, 
(shall  we  sav,)  that  these,  being  mixed  together,  are  suffi¬ 
cient  to  enable  us  to  work  out  the  most  desirable  life?  or 
do  we  still  want  something,  and  not  of  such  a  kind? 

Prot.  To  me  it  seems  we  must  act  thus. 

Soc.  Let  there  be  then  a  man  having  a  notion  of  justice 
itself,  and  knowing  what  it  is,  and  having  a  language  fol¬ 
lowing  upon  his  notions,  and  thinking  thoroughly  in  like 
manner  upon  everything  else  in  existence. 

Prot.  Let  there  be  such  a  person. 

Soc.  Will  now  this  man  have  a  sufficiency  of  science  by 
knowing  the  nature  of  the  circle,  and  of  the  divine  sphere 
itself,  while,  ignorant  of  the  sphere,  and  of  the  circles  made 
by  man.  he  is  making  a  bad  use  in  building,  and  in  other 
things  similarly,  of  straight-rules  and  circles. 

Prot.  Ridiculous  we  should  call  our  position  here,  Soc¬ 
rates,  if  it  existed  only  in  the  sciences  relating  to  things 
divine. 

Soc.  How  say  you  ?  Must  we  throw  and  mix  together  in 
common  the  art  neither  stable  nor  pure  of  the  false  straight- 
rule  and  mason’s  chisel,  and  mix  them  with  the  other  in¬ 
gredients  ? 

Prot.  Yes;  for  it  is  necessary,  if  any  of  us  is  about  on 
each  occasion  to  find  the  wav  home. 

Soc.  And  music  too,  which  we  said  a  little  before  was 
wanting  in  purity,  as  being  full  of  conjecture  and  imita¬ 
tion? 


/ 


PHILEBUS.  28? 

Prot.  To  me  it  seems  necessary,  if  our  life  is  to  be  in 
any  manner  whatever  a  life. 

Soc.  Are  you  then  willing,  like  a  door-keeper,  jostled  and 
forced  by  a  throng  of  people,  to  yield  and  throw  open  the 
doors,  and  suffer  all  the  sciences  to  rush  in,  and  to  be  mixed 
together  the  wanting  (in  purity)  with  the  pure. 

Prot.  I  cannot  perceive,  Socrates,  how  any  one  would  be 
hurt  by  receiving  all  the  other  sciences,  if  possessing  al¬ 
ready  the  leading. 

Soc.  Let  me  then  admit  them  all  to  come  pouring  into 
the  receptacle  of  Homer’s  poetical  mingling  of  the  waters 
in  a  valley. 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  They  are  admitted.  And  let  us  now  return  to  the 
font  of  pleasure.  For  when  we  thought  of  mixing  them 
together,  the  portions  of  the  true  had  not  been  produced ; 
but,  from  our  love  of  all  science,  we  sent  them  in  a  crowd 
to  the  same  spot,  and  even  before  the  pleasures. 

Prot.  You  speak  most  truly. 

Soc.  It  is  now  time  for  us  to  consult  about  the  pleasures ; 
whether  we  should  let  them  all  come  thronging  in,  or 
whether  we  should  admit  those,  that  are  true,  the  first. 

Prot.  It  makes  a  great  difference  in  point  of  safety,  to  let 
in  first  the  true. 

Soc.  Let  these  then  be  admitted.  But  what  after  this? 
Must  we  not,  if  some  are  necessary,  mix  together  these  as 
we  did  those  ? 

Prot.  Why  not  ?  at  least  the  necessary,  surely. 

Soc.  But  if,  as  we  held  it  harmless  and  useful  to  know 
through  life  all  the  arts,  we  now  assert  the  same  of  pleas¬ 
ures  likewise,  we  must  mix  them  all  together,  if  indeed  if 
is  conducive  to  us  and  harmless  for  all  to  enjoy  all  kinds  of 
pleasures  through  life. 

Prot.  How  shall  we  say  then  on  these  very  points  ?  and 
how  act? 

Soc.  It  is  not  proper,  Protarehus,  to  ask  us  this  question ; 
but  the  pleasures  themselves,  and  intellect,  by  inquiring  re¬ 
specting  each  other,  some  such  thing  as  this, 

Prot.  Of  what  kind? 


288 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Soc.  Ye  friends,  whether  we  must  call  you  Pleasures,  or 
by  any  other  name  whatever,  would  ye  choose  to  dwell  with 
all  Intellect,  or  without  Intellect?  To  this  I  think  it  is 
most  necessary  to  say  thus. 

Prot.  How? 

Soc.  That,  as  was  said  before,  for  any  pure  kind  to  be 
alone  and  deserted,  it  is  neither  very  possible  nor  useful. 
We  deem  it  however  that  the  best  of  all  kinds  should,  one 
above  others,  dwell  with  us ; — that  one,  which  is  able 
to  know  both  all  the  rest  and  itself  likewise,  and  at  the 
same  time  each  of  us  as  perfectly  as  possible. 

Prot.  And  well  have  ye  now  answered,  we  will  say  to 
them. 

Soc.  Correctly  so.  After  this  then  we  must  inquire  of 
Intellect  and  Mind.  Have  ye  any  need  of  Pleasure  in  your 
mixture?  |  we  will  say  on  the  other  hand,  interrogating 
Mind  and  Intellect]/  What  pleasures?  they  would  per¬ 
haps  reply. 

Prot.  Probably. 

Soc.  To  such  a  question  our  language  would  be  this. 
Beside  those  true  pleasures,  we  will  say,  do  ye  further 
want  pleasures  the  greatest  and  most  intense  to  dwell  with 
you  ?  How,  Socrates,  they  would  say,  should  we  want  those, 
which  give  a  thousand  hinderances  to  us  by  disturbing  the 
souls,  where  we  dwell  with  maddening  pleasures,  and  do 
not  permit  us  to  exist,  and  entirely  spoil  our  children,  there 
bom.  by  introducing  for  the  most  part  carelessness  through 
forgetfulness?  But  the  other  pleasures,  of  which  you  have 
spoken,  the  true  and  the  pure,  do  thou  consider  as  nearly 
related  to  us;  and  beside  these,  such  as  are  accompanied 
with  health  and  sobriety,  and  such  also  as  are  in  the  train 
of  all*  Virtue  in  general,  as  if  of  a  goddess,  and  everywhere 
follow  her,  all  these  do  thou  mix  (with  us).  But  those 
that  always  accompany  folly,  and  the  rest  of  depravity,  it 
is  a  great  absurdity  for  a  man  to  mix  with  intellect,  who 
desires  to  see  a  mixture  the  most  beautiful,  and  the  least 
disturbed,  and  to  try  to  learn  from  it  what  good  is  naturally, 
not  only  in  man,  but  in  the  universe ;  and  to  divine  what 
is  the  idea  (of  good)  itself.  Shall  we  not  say  that  Mind 


PHILEBUS. 


289 


lias,  in  answering  thus,  spoken  prudently,  and  with  self- 
possession,  in  behalf  of  itself  and  memory,  and  right 
opinion  ? 

Prot.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  And  this  moreover  is  necessary,  for  not  a  single 
thing  could  ever  otherwise  exist. 

Prot.  What  is  that? 

Soc.  That,  with  which  we  cannot  mix  truth,  could  never 
bo  in  existence  truly,  nor  ever  have  been. 

Prot.  For  how  could  it? 

Soc.  By  no  means.  But  if  anything  further  be  yet 
wanting  for  the  mixture,  do  you  and  Philebus  mention  it. 
For  to  me  our  present  reasoning  appears,  like  some  in¬ 
corporeal  world  about  to  rule  correctly  over  an  animated 
body,  to  have  been  worked  out. 

Prot.  And  to  me  say,  Socrates,  it  has  seemed  thus. 

Soc.  Should  we  then,  in  saying  that  we  are  now  stand¬ 
ing  at  the  very  vestibule  of  the  good,  and  the  residence  of 
a  thing  of  such  a  kind,  correctly  perhaps  in  a  certain 
manner  say  so? 

Prot.  To  me  at  least  it  seems  so. 

Soc.  What  then  would  appear  to  us  to  be  in  this  mixture 
the  thing  most  valuable,  and  especially  the  cause  of  such  a 
disposition  being  agreeable  to  all?  For  after  having  seen 
this,  vre  will  subsequently  consider  whether  to  pleasure  or 
to  mind  it  adheres  the  closer,  and  the  more  intimately,  in 
the  constitution  of  the  universe. 

Prot.  Bight.  For  this  will  conduce  the  most  to  our  de¬ 
cision. 

Sec.  And  there  is,  indeed,  no  difficulty  in  discovering  the 
cause  of  mixture  in  general,  through  which  it  is  worth  every 
thing  or  nothing. 

Prot.  How  say  you  ? 

Soc.  No  man  is  surely  ignorant  of  this. 

Prot.  Of  what  ? 

Soc.  That  every  mixture,  whatever  it  be,  and  whatever 
its  quantity,  if  it  does  not  meet  with  measure  and  a  sym¬ 
metrical  nature,  does  of  necessity  destroy  both  the  in¬ 
gredients  and  itself.  For  there  exists  not  a  tempering,  but 

19 


290 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


a  certain  unmixed  bringing  together,  (and)  confused  truly 
of  this  kind  on  every  occasion  in  reality  to  those  who  pos¬ 
sess  it. 

Prot.  Most  truly  so. 

Soc.  The  power  then  of  the  good  has  fled  from  us  into 
the  nature  of  the  beautiful.  For  surely  everywhere  modera¬ 
tion  and  symmetry  happens  to  be  a  beauty  and  a  virtue. 

Prot.  Certainly. 

Soc.  Now  we  have  said  that  truth  also  was  an  ingredient 
in  the  mixture. 

Prot.  Entirely  so. 

Soc.  If  then  we  are  not  able  to  hunt  out  the  good  in  one 
form,  yet.  taking  it  in  three  together,  beauty,  and  sym¬ 
metry,  and  truth,  let  us  say  that  we  can  most  justly  con¬ 
sider  these  as  one  cause  of  the  ingredients  in  the  mixture, 
and  that  through  this,  as  being  good,  the  mixture  is  itself 
produced  of  such  a  kind. 

Prot.  Most  truly  indeed. 

Soc.  Now  then,  Protarchus.  any  person  whatever  would 
be  a  competent  judge  respecting  pleasure  and  intellect,  as 
to  which  of  the  two  is  more  closely  allied  to  the  greatest 
good,  and  in  higher  honor  both  amongst  men  and  gods. 

Prot.  (The  decision)  is  clear  indeed;  yet  it  is  better  to 
go  through  it  in  our  discourse. 

Soc.  Let  us  then  compare  each  of  the  three  severally 
with  pleasure  and  with  intellect.  For  we  are  to  see  to 
which  of  the  two  we  must  assign  each  of  the  three  as  being 
the  nearer  related. 

Prot.  Are  you  speaking  of  beauty,  and  truth,  and 
moderation  ? 

Soc.  Yes.  Now  lay  hold  in  the  first  place,  Protarchus, 
of  truth ;  and  having  laid  hold  of  it,  look  at  the  three, 
mind,  and  truth,  and  pleasure;  and  after  waiting  a  con¬ 
siderable  time,  answer  to  yourself,  whether  pleasure  or 
mind  i;  nearer  related  to  truth. 

Prot.  What  need  is  there  of  time?  for  I  think  they 
differ  greatly.  For  of  all  things  pleasure  is  the  greatest 
braggart;  and  as  the  saying  is,  in  the  pleasures  of  Venus, 
which  seem  to  be  the  greatest,  even  perjury  has  obtained 


PHILEBUS. 


291 


pardon  from  the  gods;  since  pleasures,  like  children,  pos¬ 
sess  not  the  least  particle  of  mind.  But  mind  is  either 
the  same  thing  as  truth,  or  of  all  things  the  most  like  to 
it,  [and  the  most  truthful.] 

Soc.  Consider  then  after  this  in  the  same  manner1 
moderation,  whether  pleasure  possesses  more  of  it  than 
intellect,  or  intellect  more  of  it  than  pleasure. 

Prot.  And  this  inquiry  too  which  you  have  proposed,  is 
easy  to  be  considered.  For  I  imagine  no  person  will  find 
any  thing  more  immoderate  than  pleasure  and  extravagant 
joy;  nor  a  single  thing  of  more  moderation  than  mind  and 
intellect. 

Soc.  You  have  spoken  well.  But  however  still  mention 
the  third  thing.  Has  mind  partaken  of  beauty  more  than 
any  kind  of  pleasure,  so  that  mind  is  more  beautiful  than 
pleasure,  or  the  reverse  ? 

Prot.  Has  then,  Socrates,  any  man  in  a  day-dream  or 
night-dream  seen  or  imagined  that  intellect  and  mind  is  in 
any  matter  or  in  any  manner  a  thing  that  has  been,  or  is, 
or  will  be  unhandsome  ? 

Soc.  Right. 

Prot.  But  whenever  we  see  any  person  whatever  delighted 
with  pleasures,  and  those  too  the  greatest,  and  behold  the 
ridiculous,  or  what  is  the  most  disgraceful  of  all  things, 
following  upon  them,  we  are  ashamed  ourselves,  and  by 
putting  them  out  of  sight,  conceal  them  by  giving  them,  as 
far  as  possible,  to  night  and  darkness,  all  such  things  as 
not  being  fit  for  the  light  to  look  on. 

Soc.  To  all  then  and  everywhere,  Protarchus,  you  will 
declare,  sending  by  messengers  (to  the  absent),  and  speak¬ 
ing  to  those  present,  that  pleasure  is  a  possession,  neither 
the  first  nor  the  second  in  worth,  but  that  the  first  relates 
to  moderation,  and  that  the  moderate  and  seasonable,  and 
all  that  it  is  meet  to  consider  as  such,  have  obtained  the 
eternal  nature. 

Prot.  It  appears  so  from  what  has  been  said  already. 

Soc.  And  that  the  second  relates  to  symmetry  and 
beauty,  the  perfect  and  the  sufficient,  and  whatever  else  is 
of  that  family. 


292 


TRIAL  AND  DEATH  OF  SOCRATES. 


Prot.  So  it  seems. 

Soc.  In  placing,  as  my  divination  (says),  mind  and  in¬ 
tellect  the  third,  you  would  not  greatly  pass  by  the  truth. 

Prot.  Perhaps  so. 

Soc.  And  are  not  the  fourth  those  things,  which  we 
assigned  to  the  soul  herself,  called  sciences  and  arts,  and 
right  opinions?  that  these  are  the  fourth  in  addition  to 
those  three;  if,  indeed,  they  are  more  nearly  related  to 
the  good  than  to  pleasure. 

Prot.  Perhaps. 

Soc.  That  the  fifth  are  what  we  laid  down  as  pleasures, 
having  defined  them  as  painless,  and  denominated  them 
pure ;  and  following  not  the  knowledge  of  the  60ul,  but  its 
sensations. 

Prot.  Perhaps  so. 

Soc. 

Of  the  song  the  order  in  the  sixth  race  close, 

says  Orpheus.  And  our  discourse  seems  to  be  now  closed 
with  the  sixth  decision.  After  this,  nothing  remains  for  us 
but  to  affix  a  head,  as  it  were,  to  what  has  been  said. 

Prot.  It  is  fit  that  we  should. 

Soc.  Come,  then,  let  us  proceed  in  calling  upon  the  same 
reason,  as  if  it  were  the  third  cup  to  the  saviour  god,  to 
bear  witness. 

Prot.  What? 

Soc.  Philebus  has  laid  down  that  the  good  was  wholly 
and  entirely  a  pleasure. 

Prot.  The  third  you  have,  it  seems,  Socrates,  said,  just 
now,  ought  to  resume  the  original  argument. 

Soc.  Yes.  But  let  us  hear  what  follows.  I,  having  seen 
thoroughly  what  I  have  just  now  gone  through,  and  dis¬ 
liking  the  doctrine  not  of  Philebus  only,  but  of  other  thou¬ 
sands  frequently,  asserted,  that  mind  was  a  thing  far  better, 
and  better  for  the  life  of  man  than  pleasure. 

Prot.  That  is  the  fact. 

Soc.  But  then,  suspecting  that  there  were  many  other 
things,  I  stated  that  if  something  should  appear  better 
than  both  of  those,  I  would  combat  for  the  second  prize,  in 


f  HILEBUS.  293 

behalf  of  mind  against  pleasure;  and  that  pleasure  would 
be  deprived  of  the  second  prize. 

Prot.  So  you  said. 

Soc.  Afterwards  it  very  sufficiently  appeared  that  neither 
of  these  were  sufficient. 

Prot.  Most  true. 

Soc.  By  this  reasoning  then  both  mind  and  pleasure 
were  dismissed  from  being  either  of  them  the  good  itself, 
being  deprived  of  self-sufficiency,  and  the  power  belong- 
ing  to  the  sufficient  and  perfect. 

Prot,  Very  right. 

Soc.  But  when  a  third  was  discovered,  superior  to  either; 
of  those  two,  mind  appeared  a  thousand-fold  nearer  re¬ 
lated  and  more  closely  adhering  to  the  form  of  the  con- 
queror  than  pleasure  did. 

Prot.  How  not  ? 

Soc.  The  fifth  then  would  be,  according  to  the  decision, 
which  the  reasoning  has  declared,  the  power  of  pleasure. 

Prot.  So  it  appears. 

Soc.  But  the  first  place  I  would  not  yield  up,  not  if  all 
the  bulls  and  horses,  and  all  wild  beasts  whatever  should 
assert  it,  to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure;  trusting  to  whom, 
just  as  augurs  do  to  birds,  the  multitude  decide  that  pleas¬ 
ures  avail  the  most  for  living  well;  and  think  that  the 
loves  of  wild  animals  are  a  stronger  evidence,  than  the  say¬ 
ings  of  those  who  have  spoken  prophetically  on  every  oc¬ 
casion  in  the  Muse  of  Philosophy. 

Prot.  That  the  greatest  truth  has  been  spoken  by  you,' 
Socrates,  we  all  now  assert. 

Soc.  Now  then  ye  dismiss  me. 

Prot.  There  is,  Socrates,  still  a  little  left.  For  you  will 
surely  not  march  off  before  us ;  and  I  will  put  you  in  mind 
of  what  is  left  unsaid. 


XHE  END. 


Date  Due 


888.4  P718CH 


37357 


4 


